Instinct
by StBridgit
Summary: They say stress can activate sleeping genes. What causes magic to spring forth, anyway? What sort of genetic cosplay results in magical, humanoid species? These are not questions that Draco Lucius Malfoy has ever had cause to consider...until he is the one subject to the vagaries of genetics. A massive shift in perspective ensues, and Hermione is the new focus. Dramione Veela.
1. Awakening

**This is the first story I've published that I'm not promising I will finish. I have a lot of other demands on my time, and this is not my primary writing focus for the summer. I am also not promising to update it regularly. If you are fine with those constraints, then please enjoy. As always, reviews are likely to spark more interest on my part. Many thanks to JKR for the world in which my imagination rambles.**

The evening was the worst of his life.

Draco looked at the mess on the street of the Muggle hamlet. The scent from the Muggle blood was particularly noxious to him now, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least this lot had the tender mercy of being killed instead of taken elsewhere for less salubrious 'delights'. Thus far he had only been given the task of mopping things up and casting _Morsmordre_. There were some small advantages to being decidedly out of favor, if it meant passing up such 'pleasures' as torture and murder.

"That's enough!" Yaxley's voice was emotionless and cold; pretty well like the man himself, in Draco's experience. He vastly preferred missions with him or Rowle over his aunt or that lunatic Dolohov. Not that Dolohov was doing all that well at the moment, either, he thought with a vicious twinge of satisfaction. He idly watched as Yaxley double-checked the strewn bodies, the distant sound of Muggle sirens an invitation to more havoc, if he so chose. _For the love of Merlin, just be done with it_ , Draco thought to himself.

It was bad enough that Draco's new handle as the junior Death Eater who did _not_ kill Dumbledore had caused Voldemort to send him on increasingly sick forays with other Death Eaters to kidnap, torture, kill, curse, or whatever other twisted desire crossed the Dark Lord's mind. However, his birthday had caused the onset of the most painful transformation of his life, which he had to keep secret from his own mother, not to mention his crazy ass aunt, and definitely the Dark Lord. Thank Merlin Snape had been teaching him Occlumency since fourth year, or he would have been Crucio'ed and Avada'ed before he could blink.

Yaxley nodded at Draco.

 _Thank Salazar._

Draco pointed his wand skyward, watching the snake writhe into the air. Another night in purgatory finished, it seemed. Disapparating in a puff of black smoke (for such dramatics were required), he soundlessly appeared in the foyer of the Manor, a privilege permitted only to the permanent residents of the house and the Dark Lord himself. He grinned for a split second at the thought before the noise reached him. Bellatrix was shouting at someone—torture, again.

 _On the Manor's first floor, how tasteless could she be?_ Draco thought to himself, before the scream reached his ear. It was followed by a scent…more blood, but not like anything he'd ever smelled before—

His blood felt like it had been set alight, every corpuscle quivering as a white hot sensation overpowered every sense. _That blood…_

Draco gasped and fell down to one knee, keeping himself upright by sheer willpower alone.

 _Salazar, Rowena, Helga, Godric…the smell!_

His entire being roared, his magical core coalescing in a fire of need. Another scream rent the air, and Draco was hit with a rapid fire succession of soul-deep realizations. His mate was here, and his aunt was torturing her. And he had to stop it. _Now_.

Another bone wrenching scream pierced him to the core. It didn't matter that she had to be on the side of the Order, or that he didn't yet know who she was. Every primal part of him was firing and in control, the plan assembling itself with a rapidity and cleverness that was unlikely to elicit any suspicion. Draco was playing a dangerous game already, but this would either damn him to the deepest pits of hell or propel him to the heights of the heavens.

Silently he approached the doors to the drawing room. The blood smell was stronger, overwhelming him with a feeling of rage. Dimly his rational brain asserted itself. He couldn't react from pure emotion, he had to be calm. _Calm, calm, she will be safe in a moment_.

A silencing spell on the door.

A _Confundus_ charm on the entrance to the room.

There, he was in. His aunt was screeching at a prone figure on the floor. He couldn't tell who she was, the wave of her blood scent hitting his nostrils again. Every part of his being was focused on executing the plan. No hesitation was possible.

He kept walking, silent thanks to the charm he had used on himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father, there, watching with that cold numbness that was the only refuge other than insanity. Lucius' head jerked slightly—he saw him.

Before his father could give away his presence, Draco's wand flicked out and cast a nonverbal _Stupefy!_ with more power than he had ever wielded nonverbally. Bellatrix Lestrange didn't see who had hexed her, and he quickly knocked her out the Muggle way with a heavy candlestick as she lay facedown on top of the girl. He saw dark maroon blood ebbing from the wound through her crazy curls, and he heard his father shouting at him.

"What have you done, Draco? WHY?" Lucius' voice was manic, the suddenness of his son's action dissolving his torpor. He leapt forward, but Draco actually snarled at him as he crouched over the prone forms on the floor, his head snapping up as his teeth bared, the incisors elongating with the deadly elegance of a Veela.

"Oh no," Lucius whispered, horrified. Draco ignored him and turned back to the task of removing Bellatrix from the nearly unconscious girl. His only priority was his mate. Another wordless spell had Bellatrix's frozen body off the girl and he finally saw her face, her caramel eyes wide with shock.

"Fuck. Granger." Draco said, closing his mouth quickly before she saw his incisors. He turned to his father pleadingly. "Help me, Father! It has to look like she and her friends escaped. Quickly!"

"Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was shaky, the tears still trickling down her face, an unconscious series of twitches from the Cruciatus still sending sheaves of pain falling through her frame.

Another breath and wave of sensation hit Draco as the scent of her blood filled his nostrils. He itched to sink his teeth into her, to claim her NOW. _Were there no bounds to which the universe would go to torture him?_ he thought as he looked at the Muggleborn girl he'd always despised.

"Shut up!" Draco hissed, standing and approaching Lucius, desperate for distance before he fucked them all over due to his damn instincts. His teeth cut painfully into his tongue as he instructed his father. "Get down to the dungeons, get her friends up here! Keep your part in it cloaked, I'll deal with the girl."

"Draco, your mother—" Lucius began, but Draco hissed, "Just do it! I know!"

"Draco? Why did you do that?"

Draco's head snapped back to Hermione, watching as she struggled to get up, forcing his nails to dig into his palms instead of touching her again. Draco still smelled the blood. God, he wanted her! She touched her forearm and tears sprang to her eyes again, causing his gaze to zero in on the wound his aunt had inflicted. He grabbed her arm wordlessly, a bit more roughly than necessary, examining the word that Bellatrix had been carving into her flesh.

"Be quiet and let me heal this," Draco ordered harshly, resisting claiming her with every fiber of his conscious being. Some quick probing spellwork showed the Dark magic in the wounds. Gritting his teeth against the pain razoring against his own aura, he silently thanked his father for his merciless tutelage in the Dark Arts, pulling out the seeping tendrils of black magic with his wand before healing the cuts. She stared at him openmouthed, another tremor shuddering through her frame. It worsened and Draco realized that her stare had drifted to Bellatrix's unconscious form. He roughly shook her arm to get her attention again as he finished healing her wounds.

"You have to get out of here. I'm going to help you, Granger. Just…trust me. I need your memory of me coming in here. Please."

Draco's voice was pleading, but he could see that her distrust of him was going to cost them precious seconds.

"What? Draco, I need my wand! I need—"

They didn't have time to negotiate. For the first time in his life, he used his essence on his mate.

It was not as he'd imagined it would occur. Hermione's expression grew more trusting, and he quickly pulled the short string of memory from her, placing it in an unbreakable vial and sending it to his room, to his hiding place. Immediately following that he hit her with the Imperius. She fought him every inch of the way, and it was only because she was his mate that he was able to get away with it, the rich smell of her scent deepening in response to his essence. His tongue was thick, his blood roaring as he garbled out,

"You're going to wrestle me for my wand, Granger, and when your friends show up at the door there you're going to get it, and Stupefy me. A little blood wouldn't go amiss, either. And then you're going to take Bellatrix's wand and get the hell out of here, and do a better job of being careful not to get caught. And as soon as you get wherever you're going to Disapparate to, you'll throw off this curse. Understood?"

He removed the Stupefy and she nodded, then began struggling with him in earnest. If it hadn't been so tragically comical he would have enjoyed it, the close contact and panting as they rolled around on the floor, his tongue cutting against his eyeteeth from the near mad desire to just _taste_ her. At last the door opened, and with a move that caused a spurt of blood to erupt from his nose as she broke it, she snatched his wand and Stupefied him in front of her friends' fixed stares. It happened so fast—Hermione's panicked voice calling to his traitorous house elf—he would have applauded her for suggesting Dobby as a means of escape if he had been able to do so. His eyes tracked on the bedraggled prisoners, then fixed on the unmistakable, swollen visage of Harry Potter. _Shit fuck!_

He had to figure out what that meant, what Bellatrix had done, why she hadn't already called the Dark Lord. Before he could pursue that train of thought, someone (probably that weasel, Weasley) kicked him hard in the head and he passed out.

When Draco came to again, he hoped it was because his father had come back and they had time to get their stories straight. If not, this could be hairy going. Instantly he felt the painful, red hot agony of the Cruciatus curse.

Only one person had that much power.

"I'm so sorry, my lord!" he ground out between screams, his body twisting violently enough that he feared his wings would erupt from his back. He saw the scuffed tips of his godfather's dragonhide boots, knew that both of his parents were probably there to witness his humiliation, and had probably felt the sting of the Dark Lord's wand as well. The intensity of the curse grew after his apology, but he kept uttering it again and again, not even feeling it when he lost control of his bladder. When he was finally tortured to within an inch of his life, Lord Voldemort finally allowed him to gasp a few breaths that were, blissfully, devoid of the white hot agony, possessing merely the burn of extreme muscular pain.

"Now, Draco. Perhaps you can shed some light on the circumstances of the escape of the Mudblood and Weasley, along with your other prisoners, hmm?"

Draco painfully pulled himself up to kneel, groveling, before Lord Voldemort. He didn't even dare to look at the Dark Lord, but began his explanation. He prayed to every deity that his father had given a similar tale. "I arrived home from the raid and my aunt was torturing the mudblood in the drawing room. I entered the room, and someone must have entered behind me. I was stunned, but it only hit me partly. I stumbled and saw a curse hit Bella, kicked back and hit something. The mudblood rushed at me and wrestled me for my wand. I was about to overcome her, I swear it, but the others came up from the dungeons and I was hexed again. I don't know, one of them hit me. That's the last thing I know."

"And did you see anyone else of interest, before you were knocked out?" Voldemort's tone was sharp, and Draco knew this was the key question. This had to stick. "I recognized the redheaded weasel and the airhead, but no one else. Oh, and Ollivander…" he allowed his tone to trail off, as if he were afraid his master didn't want that to be general knowledge, his shoulders hunching for a dose of the Cruciatus instinctively.

Voldemort's wand pushed his chin up painfully and he thrust his way into Draco's mind, shuffling through his recent memories like tissue paper. It played out in his memories exactly as he had said, the true version of events buried tightly in the primitive part of his brain that was the Veela, secure behind his Occlumency shields. The Dark Lord thrust him away with a hand to his forehead, throwing a half-hearted _Crucio_ for thirty seconds at the boy while he pondered the outcome of the attack. Bellatrix had laid her mind more than bare before him, and their accounts matched up, for the most part. Bella could not remember anything beyond Cruciating the girl and cutting her up with knives, and the girl's refusal to tell them where they had been hiding Potter.

Draco looked carefully up to his right as the quivering from the curse subsided, and saw his aunt Bellatrix giving him a disgusted look. Clearly she didn't suspect him of anything other than the incompetence she had come to associate with a Malfoy, and he kept his head lowered, subservient and as quiescent as possible despite the stench of urine and wracks of muscle spasms.

"Tonight has been a disappointment of the highest order. But they faltered, my loyal servants; they faltered. This proves the power of the Taboo, and the value of the work of the Snatchers. Greyback, perhaps this fool of a boy would be an adequate reward for your valuable efforts."

Voldemort's voice rang out in the hall, which was doubtless crowded with all the Death Eaters. Draco shivered. One bite from Greyback and he would maul the wolf right back, his Veela more than a match for a lowly werewolf. However, then his secret would be well and truly out. He heard someone clear their throat, then the sibilant and low tones of Severus Snape filled the crevices of the Inner Circle.

"My Lord, if I may—this boy might be put to a more _useful_ occupation at Hogwarts. Since assuming the mastery of the school, I, your most humble servant, have been nearly unable to keep up with the potions required for our good work. Since he possesses a talent for potion making, and I am surely to become busier with the staff changes you have suggested, perhaps he could be required to assist me in my work?"

The Dark Lord paused in his steps in front of Draco, and he could tell from the growl of the werewolf behind him that Lord Voldemort must be giving the matter some thought.

"Yes, Severus, you are correct. This would suit me, _for now_." The Dark Lord grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at his dark red eyes. Draco did not have to fake the fear he felt at the sight of his master, and the Dark Lord's lips twisted most cruelly. "Do make him _earn_ his place beneath my feet, Severus. How crushing, for the pureblood heir to sink to scrubbing cauldrons."

"It will be as you say, my Lord," Severus replied assuredly, and the Dark Lord released him, walking off and leaving Draco in the pool of his own urine.

"Widdle Drakey, you've wet yourself!" Bellatrix cackled, then clapped her hands together with glee before she followed her master.

"Fuck me," Draco said as the echo of footsteps departing behind him gave him permission to slump down, pressing his head to the cold flagstones, piss or not.


	2. A Dragon's Breath Away

**Good afternoon. Thanks to all for the encouraging reviews, I appreciate them greatly. I've been sitting on this but it needed editing and I haven't had a chance to do that until today. Let me know what you think of it, please!**

* * *

"Blimey, Hermione, how did you get away from Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Ron, please don't ask me about that right now," Hermione whispered, her body succumbing to the after-effects of the torture, adrenaline, and cortisol. The tremors that wracked her were less terrible than the curse, but it reminded her of the horrible hours. A fog was present over some of it, and she was in no shape to answer any questions.

Fleur glared darkly at her brother-in-law, then turned her attention back to Hermione. "I will give you a muscle relaxing potion. It will help with the worst of the tremors. For the most part, though, you will have to ride it out."

She and Bill were busy running healing charms and diagnostics on all of them. Chronic malnutrition for the goblin and Ollivander, some signs of the same in Luna, and Harry's hives were likely to be present another few hours if Hermione had been the one to cast it.

"I'm just glad to be out of there," Harry said, his face beginning to return to normal as Bill cast a healing charm on him. "Thank you for that, Hermione."

"All in a day's work," she quipped, her jaw clenching as another tremor wracked her.

"Enough! Get out and leave her alone—she needs rest, not you pair hovering," Fleur said insistently, and shooed them out of the bedroom, a silent Bill nodding at his wife. He had been speaking to Griphook, but Ollivander required a bit of care, and Fleur would have to leave Hermione by herself.

"Do you need anything else Hermione? I cannot give you anything but time for the tremors, but by tomorrow they should be mostly gone," Fleur said. "Try your best to rest. It helps."

"Thank you," Hermione said, allowing her body to flow along with the tremors. They were nothing pleasant, but were far more tolerable than the curse itself. Her mind was turning over the moments in the drawing room. She didn't remember Draco coming in, nor did she remember how Bellatrix went down or how she came to be wrestling with Malfoy for his wand. She remembered the shouts from her fellow prisoners, Stupefying Draco, then Dobby disapparating them all with a sickening whirl that made her nerve endings scream in agony, collapsing from a complete blackout as they appeared outside of Shell Cottage.

 _Safe. I am safe_. That was all she could remember, consigning the circumstances of their very lucky escape to the back of her mind as best she could. _Safe, for now_ …that was all that mattered.

* * *

Draco knew the end of the term might signal the end of his protection via the Hogwarts assignment under Severus. The halls were no longer filled with any laughter. Instead the Carrows inflicted their particularly sadistic brand of torture and cruelty on the students who were there, focusing particularly on those who were trying vehemently to remain unaligned or those who were suspected of being sympathizers with the Light. Despite spending more hours than he could count brewing potions in Snape's private lab, scrubbing an endless number of cauldrons or dicing dangerous potions ingredients, Draco could not help but hear about the disappearances of key students such as Longbottom and most of the senior Gryffindors, as well as a fair number of Hufflepuffs.

Severus Snape was a harsh taskmaster to Draco, although he never inflicted any worse punishments than he would have done as a professor. More importantly, his godfather knew that he was a Veela, and furthermore, who was his mate. Snape's reaction had been predictably pissed at that little bit of news.

"What in the bloody buggering hell do you think is going to happen to you if they lose, hmmm? Do you think the Dark Lord will be inclined to spare the poster child for all Mudbloods? One who has been responsible for protecting Harry Potter?" Snape's voice was vindictive and harsh. "Or that he'd ignore that you've got a built-in tracking mechanism for one third of the Golden Trio?"

"No, I rather thought he'd send a nice wedding gift," Draco replied sarcastically. "I'm quite aware of how big a fucking mess it is, alright?"

He hadn't been the one to tell Snape, which meant his father had stuck his nose in. Snape's next words confirmed it.

"Your father is doing his best to distract the Dark Lord from your current sorry state, at the cost of his own hide—and I do mean that _literally_. I hope you are prepared to do whatever it takes to keep your status a secret."

"I would die before I revealed that. The only choice I have is to protect her however I can. She will survive." Draco had to believe that, otherwise his life might as well be flushed down the toilet. Fortunately he was stubborn enough to believe it despite the incredibly bad odds.

Snape paused, studying the boy, almost man, before him. "You'll have to help them, then. It's the only way you _might_ survive this."

Draco had been required to swear his godfather an Unbreakable vow before Snape would tell him anything about what he was doing. At least Snape had the foresight to include an end date (if the Dark Lord were killed), but now Draco was responsible for hiding not only his own heritage but also all of Snape's secret Order work from the Dark Lord. If his Occlumency shields broke… _well, that was that, wasn't it?_ Draco practiced them all the more, knowing how fine the knife edge was upon which he was walking. He knew full well that Snape wouldn't have told him anything if it weren't for the fact that Draco _knew_ his mate's life depended on it. That meant he would willingly go insane before letting anyone see anything that would jeopardize her safety. There was a lot to be said for a Veela's protective instincts.

He wondered where Hermione was. It was odd, calling her that in his head, but that's what she was to him now. He refocused his attention on the tarantacula tendrils he was supposed to be crushing. One had almost grabbed him, and that would not be acceptable. _Best not to think of her at all._

"Draco!"

Draco pressed down viciously on the errant tendril and turned to look at his godfather, satisfied the fucking plant wouldn't try THAT again while his back was turned. "Yes?"

"Leave that. You need to come with me."

He knew better than to argue. Wiping the silver blade on a towel, he placed a stasis charm on the work surface and grabbed his cloak. Who knew where Snape was dragging him now—probably to pick the noses of some sea cucumbers or some other equally disgusting task.

"Hold on," Snape ordered sharply, and Draco grabbed Snape's proffered arm. _Fucking fantastic_. He hated side-along apparition, had ever since he was a child. He withstood the pulling sensation, and by force of long habit and strong willpower commanded his stomach not to rebel when they appeared on a rocky coastline. It would have been peaceful…but, there was something there.

"I see you understand why your presence is required," Snape said quietly, indicating that Draco should precede him. "Lead the way, bloodhound."

Draco wanted tell Severus Snape where to stuff himself, but he was distracted by the scent of his mate. "This way," he said, gesturing with his head. He knew she would have masked her presence quite well, but cloaking spells were no match for the Veela. It was quite a powerful instinct and ability, meant as it was to ensure the survival of an entire species. There was little that could be done magically to hide that.

"It must be a house," Draco said. The Fidelius charm was one of the few things that could dampen the scent, but it had been almost a month since he'd seen her, touched her. Now that he'd found her, his senses would remain razor sharp when it came to picking her up.

"I knew there was a reason I saved your worthless hide," Severus drawled. "Watch it. I want to know where they go when they leave. Do NOT interfere."

"I know better than to do that," Draco snorted, and made himself comfortable to keep watch.

It was a calculated risk to leave Draco on watch duty, but Snape had a few things to do in private while the Dark Lord was occupied. In particular, he needed something from the room where Nagini slept, and he also needed to know what the Golden Trio were planning to do. Lucius and Narcissa were prepared to distract the Dark Lord should it be required, although they would doubtless heap more pain on themselves in doing so. It was remarkable how one little detail like the identity of their son's mate had completely shifted their allegiances.

Snape had not been able to keep good track of nor offer any other assistance to the teens hunting Horcruxes. There was one unknown Horcrux left, and Snape hoped they had figured out where it was. The diadem was somewhere at Hogwarts, but they had to get this last one before things could really climax. The Cornish coast had been a pure guess based on a tiny fragment of a memory about a great aunt Weasley that had property there, and it appeared his hunch had paid off. They would have had to recuperate after the very dangerous near miss with the Snatchers.

Draco had no worries about being detected. Doubtless all the protective wards they had cast were focused on malicious intent, and there was no one so far removed from wishing _harm_ on Hermione than himself. And because the others were now protecting his mate while he could not, that feeling extended to them as well, whoever they were besides Potter and Weasel.

The hours passed slowly as he kept watch for any activity. Draco sincerely hoped they would do something sometime soon, as he did not relish the look of the clouds hovering. It would require a bit of clever charmwork to keep himself unobserved if the heavens did unleash themselves as they were threatening to do. At least she was nearby. He enjoyed that faint trace of her and imagined a time when he would finally be able to pursue his mate properly. At the moment it might look like the chances of that happening were about equal to the mating of a hippogriff with a thestral, but stranger things had happened…

It was a wet six hours before Draco finally got a glimpse of one of them. It was the Weasel, and one of his brothers. _Fuck me_ , Draco thought to himself. It would have been worth the pissing rain if he had at least spotted Hermione, but no, clearly that was not going to happen today. As the sun finally set, Draco Disapparated back to the gates of Hogwarts to report to Snape.

"They are plotting something. Go back daily to keep watch," Snape ordered, and Draco executed a short, flippant bow. As he straightened he gave his godfather one of his patented sneers, disgruntled after hours of sensory teasing.

"What the fuck am I supposedly doing while I'm off for ages, hmm? I'd rather have a story agreed, if you don't mind."

Snape's lips quirked, and he held up a jar. "There is a particular kind of diatomaceous earth found there. You're getting some for me. It's messy and tedious work. Here." He flipped the jar and Draco caught it neatly.

"Thank you," Draco said, tucking the bottle into his cloak.

* * *

It was three days later that something happened. If Draco had not been watching the place for so long he would have been off after them, but as it was he had to get back to Snape and figure out what in the holy fuck they were doing now. He waited until the four of them had vanished, and then Disapparated himself, the pull of worry growing stronger by the minute.

"They are off somewhere dangerous," Draco said abruptly as soon as he got into the Headmaster's quarters and ascertained that Snape was alone.

"How do you know this?" Snape inquired, one eyebrow raised sardonically.

"Because one of them was Polyjuiced like my aunt Bellatrix." Draco did not add that he was pretty certain it was Hermione. The Polyjuice masked her but he was pretty sure it had been her. "Where could they be going that would require impersonating my aunt?"

Snape had not told Draco about the Horcruxes, and he did not intend to start. However, he could at least set Draco's Veela instincts after them. It was a useful attribute when he couldn't communicate openly with the three, not that they would believe a word he said anyway. "Gringotts. I suspect they are retrieving an item from the LeStrange vault."

"Are they MENTAL?" Draco shouted. "No one can break into Gringotts!"

"Obviously they think they can, or they would not be attempting it. They do have the goblin, and he will aid them, presumably." Snape was pacing now behind his desk, pondering possibilities.

"But it's way too dangerous! I have to go, now!" Draco was about to leave when Snape grabbed his shoulders and stopped him.

"You will _not_ go off in a haze of hormones and assume you can help your prospective mate," Severus snarled. "If they are attempting to break in, they must have a plan for egress. You will wait outside Gringotts, on your broom, and keep watch for them. Your instincts will lead you. If they are captured, there will be nothing you can do for them at that time. Patience!"

"Fuck them and their Gryffindor idiocy," Draco hissed, shrugging off Severus' hands. Of course, the insults could never apply to _her_ any more. "Fine. Once I know where they are settling next, I will return."

"You'd better pray the Dark Lord doesn't summon you in the interim," Snape said. "Your father is doing the best he can to keep him distracted from you, at his and your mother's expense."

Draco knew what that meant. The last time he had seen his parents, his father had a noticeable tremor that worsened in the presence of the Dark Lord. He didn't want to know what they were doing, quite frankly, because he wasn't sure he could handle the stress if he did. "I understand."

He couldn't get out of there fast enough. His lips pulled back from his teeth involuntarily as he took off on his Nimbus. He would Apparate to London with the broom when he was well away from the castle and the Carrows' potentially prying eyes. _Damn Potter and the Dark Lord. Damn them all!_

* * *

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Draco's heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through his system and making him nearly impotent with rage and a desire to hex someone. He wasn't bonded to Hermione yet, but he could tell she was in danger, and the vague unease that seized him was worse than anything he'd felt since she had been under the Cruciatus from Bellatrix. If it were possible to pace on a broomstick, that was what he was doing, flying tight loops that were a reflection of his intense concentration on that tiny thread of recognition that existed between him and his mate. His disillusionment charm was sufficiently strong that it didn't waver, but he was completely focused on the faint whiff of emotion coming from his mate. Fear or adrenaline, he couldn't make it out clearly, but she was agitated, and in danger. His senses were heightened and his wings were visibly shaking, testing his willpower and the tight weave of his shirt and jacket.

Finally there was a horrific roar, and the glass ceiling of Gringotts fell in as a large dragon careened out, three people clinging desperately to its back. Draco didn't care about the other two, but his senses came alive in a burst of intense instinct as he spotted Hermione. The Polyjuice had worn off, and she and the others were firing back at the security wizards pursuing them on the dragon. Draco took off after them, his years of Seeking against Potter finally serving a more important purpose. He flew alongside the dragon, skimming underneath it, his focus on the attacking wizards and less so on the massive intake of breath that said the dragon had sensed his presence. He was already past the snout and almost to the tail, firing two curses at a wizard that was firing at one of the three above. One of them connected, sending the attacker spiraling downward viciously back into Gringotts. Draco couldn't be worried about whether he had been detected by the Trio, as he had certainly been detected by one of the pursuers. He spiraled around the dragon's flicking tail and in doing so dodged a spell aimed at him, throwing his own hex at the wizard.

"Merlin they have bad aim!" he heard from Weasley. It would have made him laugh it weren't for the fact that his wings were nearly about to break through his coat, and he was pretty certain his disillusionment charm wouldn't hold for _that_. Right now he had a bigger problem, the remaining wizard who was split in attention between himself and those on the dragon. He swerved hard left to avoid being burnt by a massive jet of flame from the dragon, whose long strokes were sending it further skyward and away from the chaos in Gringotts below. Curses were still flying from Potter, Weasley, and Hermione, so he had to avoid those as well, firing his own from beneath the cover of the dragon's wings as he darted around the escapees.

Finally he saw one of Hermione's spells connect, the wizard dropping like a rock from the sky. Draco kept to their flank, forcibly restraining his wings while savoring the nearness of his mate. The breeze sent her scent to him, and he shuddered from the recoil of his own adrenaline, fear, and adoration. _Thank you, Goddess, for keeping her safe_.

The dragon had reached a thermal now, and was practically gliding. Fortunately for Draco, this gave him a bit of a break as well, and allowed him to finish pulling himself together. The fact that the prevailing wind direction sent a near constant stream of Hermione's scent to him was the icing on the fairy cakes. Gradually, though, as the flight lasted longer, he could smell her pain. She was burned, and her body language shrieked her exhaustion and stress. He wanted nothing more than to pull her off the dragon's back himself, heal her, and hold her safe. Nothing would be _less_ likely to ensure her safety at this point, however, a fact which frustrated him greatly.

The conversation among the three of them about how to get _off_ the dragon amused him. _For fuck's sake, they could use their wands?!_ Draco was amazed when they dropped off the dragon's back into a lake, the icy cold probably feeling good to them. _Merlin, do they not know how to cast a damn Impervius charm?_ He noted they were not too far away from Hogwarts, flight-wise, and it was a good thing, too. He zipped off, touching down just as his Mark began to burn.

"Fuck!"

He sent the broom off to the storage area and Disapparated, hoping he could speak to Severus once this meeting was over.


	3. The End of the Beginning

**Hello lovely readers. Thanks to all who have favorited or followed this story. I struggled a bit with this chapter, but I'm keen to get to Draco and Hermione having a chance to interact directly. Please write a review. If you haven't looked at my profile yet, you should know that my writing habits are directly proportionate to the number of reviews I get. Favoriting and following are for you, really, and reviews are incentive for me to keep writing for you. It's the only form of payment you can offer me, and let's face it, you screen stories based on the number of reviews received, don't you? So help me attract more readers by reviewing, please! Thanks!**

* * *

"So they are in the Scottish Highlands." Snape paced once, then stood with his hands on the windowsill, looking at the grounds of the castle. "Things are coming to a head rather quickly. I must insist, Draco, that you keep watch on the Room of Requirement. Potter and crew will most certainly gain access to the castle, and they will make for that room. When they do, you must be there to aid them in retrieving that which they seek. Do you understand?"

Draco could see from the way Snape's fingers clenched the stone window ledge that this activity of Potter's, whatever it was, was of great importance.

"Yes, I understand," he said slowly. "Is this potentially it, then?" He left the last part unvoiced— _the end_ —but they both knew what he meant.

"Yes." Snape said, standing to his full height abruptly. "Owl your father. As agreed."

Draco nodded and left the room swiftly, his feet automatically taking him to the Owlery with a rapid stride. He didn't notice that the beat of his footsteps matched the staccato beat of his heart.

* * *

"Did you hear that?"

Draco was disgusted by Vincent Crabbe's excited tone. Of _course_ he had heard the golden trio, he was the one who had been following them! The fact that he'd picked up Crabbe and Goyle along the way was unavoidable. Hopefully he could keep them in line.

"Yeah, let's go," Greg Goyle said in a low voice as they rounded the corner of the corridor. Draco couldn't say he was surprised that Hermione was right in the thick of things. The trio had disappeared up the stairs to the seventh floor, and he knew where they were headed.

"Do you reckon it's safe to fly?" Ron whispered, gesturing to a small group of broomsticks as they made their way around the piles of junk in the Room of Requirement.

"Of course not, Ron!" Hermione masked her uncertainty with irritation. Ever since the events at Malfoy Manor, she had found Ron's presence to be more irritating than helpful. Despite how often her brain tried to remind her of his good qualities, she couldn't help but feel he wasn't _it_ for her. His disappearance had pretty well cemented that, but now she was finding it hard to trust his instincts, too.

"Oh, okay 'Mione," he said, that apologetic look in his eyes again.

Hermione ducked her head to avoid making eye contact. _Focus, Hermione!_

It was odd to be back in Hogwarts. There was something there, beyond the malevolence of the Death Eaters running the place. Some niggling feeling at the back of her mind said that there was something else important here, something else she needed to find other than the Horcrux. Shaking her head to clear it, she took a deep breath as Harry crept toward the bust he remembered, a tiara dangling from it.

The heavy door swung open soundlessly for Draco with a flick of his wand. The Room of Requirement was full of all the things he had grown to know quite well during his time working on the vanishing cabinet. He sent Vincent and Greg off to the left, his senses telling him that Hermione had headed in the opposite direction with Potter and Weasel.

The room was eerily quiet, and Draco's unease grew as the seconds ticked away. _They must have used a silencing spell_. Finally he ran into Greg, who gestured with his head in the direction Crabbe had gone. They were not two steps away when Vincent fired at someone, then dodged a return hex. Greg fired his own hexes, apparently catching sight of another one of them.

Draco pushed his way forward, his wand out. "STOP! The Dark Lord wants him alive—"

Vincent ignored him. "Look, it's that Mudblood! _Avada Kedavra_!"

Draco felt his teeth lengthen as he snapped a curse at Vincent, consequences be damned. A convenient spell from one of the Gryffindors knocked a stack of debris over Vincent's head at the same time, and a quick glance at Greg showed that he was too busy casting his own spells to notice that Draco had just hexed Vincent. He could hear the Gryffindors now— _they're unsilenced again, the bloody fools!_ More spells were being exchanged, the sound of running footsteps and crashes of piles of junk making it difficult to tell where Hermione was heading. He darted a look to his left, and saw Greg dodging and exchanging curses with Weasley. Draco himself dodged two curses from Potter, firing his own lazy attempts while he tried desperately to catch a glimpse of Hermione. He could smell her, she was close—around that stack of old desks—

"Like it hot, do you?"

Draco's head whipped to the right and he saw Vincent swirling his wand over his head, flames bursting forth with wrathful faces.

"Shit!"

He knew that spell, saw the moment of realization on Vincent's face as the Fiendfyre broke away from him. Draco's head whipped around, looking for Hermione. Her scent was being rapidly swallowed up by the growing fire. _Shit shit shit!_

"Ron!" Harry screamed, scrambling back to the pile of brooms as thick, choking smoke began billowing. Hermione's heartrate seemed to have skyrocketed to a million miles an hour. She had never been so thankful to grasp a broom handle in her life.

"We've got to help them," Hermione said, and Harry nodded, taking off quickly. It was difficult to see, the heat from the flames rampaging making it impossible to hear anything. She tilted right, hoping that it was where they had left Malfoy and his goons.

Draco couldn't tell where she was, but his own situation was deteriorating by the second. The flames were devouring everything, and he began to scramble up the pile of desks, vaguely aware that Greg was doing the same as the air filled with deep smoke. He could feel his shirt shredding—he would fly out, grab Hermione—all of his senses were consumed with finding her. He coughed, the smoke thick and acrid as the orange yellow flames licked higher. It was time—the seam at the back of his coat was giving way—

"Draco!"

He smelled her at the same time that he saw her. She was zooming toward him on a broom, her hand outstretched. Never had such a sight been more welcome in his life. He grabbed her hand and swung himself on the broom behind her, grabbing her waist tight as she navigated the piles of flaming debris toward the door. Draco's heart was racing, and his forehead dropped forward between her shoulder blades briefly, the warmth and _life_ of his mate so treasured he couldn't do anything other than breathe in her scent.

 _She used my first name._

His mind buzzed with bone deep relief, aware that there were others on brooms. A quick look showed Potter, Weasley, and Greg. No sign of Vincent.

 _Fool_. Years of friendship, all incinerated by the overwhelming dominance of his Veela genes. Draco didn't have time to think about how that made him feel, the flames licking at the broom straws now as they felt the first wisps of cool air from the open door.

They made it through the door and it slammed itself closed, the heat from the fire still palpable as they all tumbled from the brooms to the ground. Draco winced as his partially emerged wings hit the stone floor, rolling to his back so it wasn't obvious that something was under his mercifully intact coat. He coughed violently again and took a quick look: Greg was there, but Stupefied by the look of him, and Potter, and Weasley, and Hermione. And a diadem that looked strangely like Ravenclaw's diadem, but it was leaking a black, viscous fluid.

"I'll take that," Hermione said, grabbing his wand as he coughed again, his lungs mightily confused by the twinned scents of acrid smoke and his mate's essence.

"Hey," Draco protested, causing Hermione to turn back toward him with a skeptical look in her eye. He glanced quickly over: Weasley and Potter were dealing with Greg, moving him somewhere. "He's coming. Now. You need to get out of here, Granger."

"I know what's coming, Malfoy," Hermione responded hotly, "And I'm not going anywhere. Some things are worth fighting for. I'd suggest you run along and hide if you're not really so committed to your vaunted pureblood _principles_."

The vehement anger that exuded from her expression and her stance made Draco's Veela instincts cry in anguish. She turned away again, this time ready to go with Harry and Weasel.

"I hope you do!" Draco shouted after her as they ran off. Her head turned slightly, so he knew she heard him, and they were out of sight. His chest hurt, like someone had stabbed him with a stiletto, not to mention the scrapes and contusions on his wings and back. "Fuck, she really hates me."

* * *

The Great Hall was a mass of rubble, littered with still forms and the occasional burst of crying, a low murmur of conversation the background drone to the dismal scene of carnage.

"Draco! Draco, Draco," his mother wept, pulling him close, her tears wetting his neck. "Draco, it's over, it's over."

Draco absentmindedly patted his mother's back, her words a dull roar at the back of his head. "Yes, it's over."

"My son." Lucius didn't say any more than that, but the clasp he gave his family said it all. They were lucky, very lucky, to be alive. Draco breathed the scent of his mother's perfume, still clinging faintly to her like a wraith, while his eyes tracked Hermione, who was being swallowed in hugs and tears from the Weasley family.

"What now?" His voice was hoarse, but his father knew exactly what he meant.

"We will have to make it through our trials. I have already given our solicitors the information they need to prepare our defense."

Draco broke his gaze away from Hermione to look at his father. "I don't want it to come out in public. Nothing that would humiliate her."

"Of course not," Lucius sniffed, a hint of his old supercilious self showing briefly. "But she will be told, and arrangements will be made—"

" _NO_." Draco's tone was no less insistent for being low, in keeping with the need to not draw attention to themselves at the moment. "I will not have her forced, Father. I want time to court her, do it the right way."

"But Draco, the strain—" his mother began, but Draco shook his head violently.

"No. She hates me. The only chance I have is to court her. Otherwise they might as well sentence me to the Kiss right now," he said, nodding to the approaching Aurors.

Lucius nodded reluctantly, exchanging a glance with Narcissa and then taking a brief look to his right. The Aurors, trials—these were all a formality, really. Cissy would be free to direct their solicitors and their defense, the evidence already carefully collected. _That's all right, then._

"Lucius. Draco."

Lucius stood reluctantly at the flat tones of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He knew full well what it was like to be held by the Ministry, but Draco had not yet had that dubious pleasure. He offered the only advice available for the moment, noting Draco's painful wince when the magical handcuffs were applied.

"Chin up, Draco. Malfoys still matter."

* * *

Hermione nudged her way through the looky-loos at the back of the entrance hall to the Wizengamot. Unlike them, she had a pass to the proceedings. She made it through Severus Snape's trial, and was privately relieved that her former professor had been found to not only be innocent, but an undisputed hero of the Light. Harry hadn't told her all of what he'd learned from the pensieve, but he had testified privately on Snape's behalf. The Ministry had refused to publish all the details of Snape's actions, citing continuing security risks from missing Death Eaters, but the Hogwarts board of governors had unanimously agreed to extend the position of headmaster to Snape again in light of his bravery. She hadn't heard yet if he had accepted it.

"Hermione, hey," Harry said, sliding down the bench to make room for her.

"Good morning Harry."

Hermione took her seat without much fanfare. Alvatore Beramine, the new head of the Wizengamot, had evicted all members of the press from the courtroom, so the trials were only observed by members of the wizarding public, who then ran out to the waiting reporters with Quick Quotes quills, Rememberalls, and some extremely dodgy memory recall spells. The Ministry published a daily report summarizing trial proceedings, but some of the trials were private due to information deemed too sensitive even for this limited degree of exposure.

"Should be interesting, eh?" Harry said, stealing a quick look at Hermione. She was still thin, but recovering now that she'd reconnected with her parents in Australia. "Did your parents make it back okay?"

Hermione looked away briefly, murmuring, "Actually, they've decided to stay in Australia for the time being—you know, they're not sure this is really all settled, so they are being…cautious."

Her slight, apologetic smile didn't fool Harry. He clasped her hand and squeezed it before returning his hand to his lap. Hermione's breath huffed out briefly, and she opened her mouth to say something when a door at the side of the main floor opened, and all the assorted wizarding solicitors and Aurors stood or flocked in, flanking the prisoner on trial today. Hisses and boos filled the air as the defendant was led in, his platinum blond hair tousled, his jaw unshaven. Hermione found her heart speeding up slightly, and she wished she had Harry's hand still to hold onto. No matter what had happened between her and the tall, blond young man in shackles, she didn't like to see anyone treated to such disrespect. He lifted his head briefly as he passed below them, but his eyes didn't quite reach high enough to meet hers. _Was that dirt or a bruise on his cheek?_ Her brow wrinkled—was she _disappointed_ to not see his eyes? She had no further time to contemplate it, however, as Alvatore Beramine entered then, swiftly settling himself in the Supreme Mugwump's chair.

"Draco Malfoy."

Draco stood hesitantly, the shackles on his ankles and wrists a clumsy confusion for muscles that had been frozen for so many minutes after being "held" by a petrification charm in the antechamber. He faced the stern faces of several Aurors and some previously junior ministers who had been promoted.

 _A cabal of judges for the pretense of trials._ Everyone knew that those with Dark Marks were going to go to Azkaban as the default, and possibly being Kissed for their crimes. It was getting _out_ of that prescribed fate that was the tricky business. There was no presumption of innocence when the Dark Lord had tattooed his ownership in your very blood.

"You are accused of being an active Death Eater and participating in numerous crimes against the Wizarding world. How do you plead?"

Draco cleared his throat, then fixed his level gaze on the Supreme Mugwump. "I claim the right to a trial by the _Atrium Secretorum._ "

He heard a few gasps behind him in the gallery, then a low murmur ran through the courtroom audience. He only cared that Hermione was there. Perhaps there was some hope for him after this was over with, after all. Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned forward slightly to converse in a hushed tone with the Supreme Mugwump, then fixed his attention on Draco.

"And are you prepared to prove the right of this claim by Veritaserum or by blood?" Kingsley's low baritone could be heard through the far reaches of the courtroom, and you could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

Draco took a deep breath. "By either, actually."

The murmurs broke out into a full-fledged cacophony. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood up, wand to his throat as he roared, "Silence!"

The crowd hushed as Kingsley turned deliberately to come around to the front of the enormous table. His wand was quick, the shackles falling to the floor as he took hold of Draco's upper arm. "You with me. Now."

The fascinated eyes of all present tracked the minister-elect as he dragged Draco Malfoy from the room, two Aurors and the Supreme Mugwump trailing behind.


	4. The Headmaster's Decision

**Good evening. I've been very busy IRL, and I'm not quite sure I'm done tinkering with this chapter but I am satisfied with it and would rather post it and move along. Thanks so much to all who have reviewed! You're the best. I hope you enjoy this new chapter.**

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"Look at him." Ron jerked his head down the platform, where Hermione could see Draco Malfoy bidding farewell to his parents. "Bought their way out of trouble, that's what my dad says."

"They could hardly buy off the whole Ministry, Ron," Harry said reasonably. "And do you really think Kingsley would allow that?'

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. It's expensive to run a war, though."

"With so many Death Eaters anxious to escape the Kiss, I'm sure that anything truly nefarious about the Malfoys would have come to light," Hermione said, her eyes drifting to Malfoy again. "And Narcissa did save Harry."

"Yeah, but what did those two do, that's what I want to know," Ron said, the familiar stubborn expression appearing on his face.

"There are very good reasons why they kept some of the trials secret, Ron," Harry began. "For a start, not all of the Death Eaters are accounted for…"

Hermione tuned out the familiar argument, allowing herself to surreptitiously study Malfoy. This was the first time she'd seen him since his abruptly ended public trial. She'd avoided the rest of the trials, her testimony on things being given in private. As a consequence, she had only read about the Malfoys and their acquittal. The Daily Prophet had screamed about the secret trials of Draco and Lucius Malfoy, but then more details of the trial of Severus Snape had leaked and the entire world was riveted again by the tales of how Snape had outwitted the Dark Lord. The news that somehow the Malfoys had wriggled out of any consequences was somehow easier for the public to take in the face of a new hero, if a blistering, unforgiving one.

Draco glanced over and their eyes met briefly, as if he knew she was watching him. He looked slightly healthier, perhaps a bit paler than she remembered. Hermione broke eye contact quickly, her friends more deserving of her attention.

"I can't believe he's going back. The last year must have been a total waste with the number of eighth years around," Ron observed, shoving his hands into his pockets, his wand sticking out haphazardly.

"I can't believe you _aren't_ ," Hermione said crisply, levitating her trunk beside her with little conscious effort. "You would both benefit from finishing your schooling before beginning Auror training. There might be things where you'll be behind, you know, like Charms or Advanced Herbology."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, and Harry said, "I think we'll be fine Hermione. I doubt they would have accepted us if they didn't think we were ready."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but hugged Harry and gave Ron a kiss on the cheek as Molly came along with Ginny. "Good luck. And write lots of letters!"

"Right," Ron said in that sheepish tone that said she'd be lucky to get a letter once a week.

"Ready to get this done?" Ginny asked, her cheeks glowing as Harry put his arm around her waist.

Molly was keeping an eye on them, and privately Hermione thought that Molly and Arthur were likely just as pleased to see Ginny off to school for her final year as not. They were happy to see Harry dating Ginny, but with all of the hullabaloo still surrounding Harry it was obvious the Weasleys wanted Ginny to have some modicum of privacy from the press.

"Yes. I've got my robes ready."

The whistle blew, and Hermione and Ginny bid them all farewell and got onto the train. The identities of the Head Boy and Head Girl hadn't been announced yet, but all prefects had been summoned for a meeting on the train within a half hour of departure. Both donned their robes in the lavatory, then made their way to the front of the train and the prefects' compartment. There Professor McGonagall was waiting to instruct them all on their duties which would commence on the train. On their way they said hello to the trickle of other prefects: Neville, Anthony Goldstein, Prasanna Patil, Lena Drossel, Gideon Wright…

There was something comforting about seeing familiar faces and following familiar routines. Thoughts about the faces that were missing would come later. For now it was nice to laugh and chat as they moved through the narrow corridors. Hermione stopped briefly when her robe caught on a door latch as some first years closed the door. It was well and truly stuck, and she had to use a wandless charm to free it, much to the delight of the first years pressed against the glass.

"Are you done entertaining the masses, Granger, or are we going to be late for the prefects' meeting?"

Draco Malfoy was waiting right behind her, looking as immaculate as he had every year at the start of term. His robes were expensive and tailored as usual, but those who knew him would say that there was something different about him. Hermione had never claimed to know him that well, but even she recognized that he had changed. Like most, she assumed the war was responsible in some manner. Everyone was still processing things in their own way. Hermione wasn't quite sure what her way was, but returning to school seemed like a good step back to her regularly scheduled life, so that is what she was doing. As she looked at the tall, perfectly elegant boy, she wondered why he had chosen to come back. Somehow she knew it wasn't quite the same reason as hers, and it put her on edge.

She straightened up to her full height. "Don't tell me _you're_ a prefect."

 _Well, that was a bit cold, Hermione_ , Draco thought. His tone a bit stiff, he replied, "Contrary to popular rumor, they didn't do away with Slytherin House."

 _I touched a nerve there!_ There was a familiar zing from getting her own in against Malfoy, and she fell easily into the old pattern. "It's a wonder they didn't, after the way the Slytherins behaved at the final battle. I don't know how anyone could take pride in what has come from that House."

Hermione knew she was being unfair, but to swallow Draco Malfoy of all people being a prefect was a bit much for the still raw wounds from the war. He had been a _Death Eater_. Yes, he deserved a fair chance, but to hold him up as an example was stretching the cauldron bottom a bit thin, in her opinion.

Draco couldn't help feeling a bit put upon. The past half hour of stares and darkly muttered remarks had been hard enough without hearing a similar comment from his mate's mouth. He retorted, "Maybe you've forgotten that Professor Snape is a Slytherin, and one of the most celebrated wizards who fought against Voldemort."

He still felt like his arm would burn when he said that name, but he refused to cater to a dead fear. He had forced himself to say his name, to do it without hesitation or flinching, so he would be prepared when he went back to Hogwarts. Trust Hermione to be the one to poke him about it openly first.

"Unlike others I could name," Hermione shot back. He was still an arrogant git, holding himself with that cocky assurance that he knew better than she did how things worked. Add in the way he was staring at her like she was some interesting specimen in a zoo and she couldn't help but be a bit rude.

Draco realized must have looked a second too long at her lips, because Hermione looked even more annoyed when he looked at her eyes again.

"And he's still Headmaster," Draco said, putting an end to it. He could feel the thrum of impatience from his Veela instincts, but he wasn't going to explain exactly what he had personally done for the Light in the train corridor. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm not going to be late. Excuse me."

He brushed by her, the warmth of his body pressing against her briefly in the train corridor. He smelled nice, Hermione's brain noted without her permission, and then she was scrambling behind him because she, too, did not want to be late.

 _Probably some obscenely expensive cologne_ … _entitled bas—_

Hermione caught herself, realizing that she was about to use an epithet that she had chided Ron for using to describe Malfoy. She had promised herself she would not sink to that level, otherwise she was no better than those that perpetuated all the stereotypes and assumptions that littered wizarding society. She resolved to do better and followed after Malfoy's long legged stride, his robes flaring behind him a bit as he walked in a manner that reminded her of Snape.

Draco's heart ached as he passed in front of her. It was rude and ungentlemanlike, exactly what he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't be. This was a fresh start for both of them, and he was going to make it work. He refused to force her acknowledgement of his mate claim, even though that is what his father had said he would have to do. He was going to court her and win her without the law if it killed him. Mentally recalibrating himself, he stopped at the car. He would keep making the effort until she noticed. _One step at a time_.

Instead of the undignified scramble that she had expected for the latch to the prefects' car, Draco opened it for her and stood aside like a gentleman, allowing her to enter first. With a quick glance of surprise, she entered the car and realized that everyone else was there, a fact which Professor McGonagall didn't fail to draw attention to.

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger, thank you for gracing us with your presence! Given the lateness of your arrival I will be generous, and assume you were ensuring that students were behaving themselves as you made your way here. Now, to business!"

Hermione hurried forward to sit next to Ginny on the last bit of padded bench left on either side of the compartment. Unfortunately there was no other space to sit, and the only unoccupied surface was the wall next to her. Draco leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as Professor McGonagall began explaining the duties of a prefect. Hermione tried to ignore the feeling that he was looming over her, but she was aware that he was there in an odd, hypersensitive manner that annoyed her.

"The Headmaster has chosen to inform the Head Boy and Head Girl of their selection before the feast. He will inform you upon your arrival if you have been chosen for that duty."

A brief murmur of surprise went around the carriage at that. The Head Boy and Head Girl had always been notified by owl before the start of the school year in the past. Professor McGonagall ignored it and continued briskly, "Now, here is the rotation for the first few days. It will be up to the Head Boy and Head Girl to arrange the schedules from Wednesday on. Any questions?"

Professor McGonagall looked around the compartment with an expression that said that was a rhetorical question, so she snapped along briefly. "I expect you all to ensure a smooth journey to Hogwarts. You are dismissed."

"Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. I assumed she would tell us on the train, and the delay was due to the scramble of getting the school ready for classes again," Ginny said as they stood to leave the carriage after exchanging brief "see you"s with a few other prefects.

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly. "Well, after the year last year I imagine a lot of things are unsettled. We'll just have to see who Professor Snape has chosen when we get there."

As they left the prefects' car, Draco's eyes met Hermione's briefly, and he gave her a sardonic nod.

"Git," she muttered under her breath as the latch of the door clicked closed.

* * *

"Hermione!"

Hermione felt Luna catch hold of her arm before she could enter the carriage for the ride to Hogwarts. She tried not to wonder how many other students could see the thestrals now as well.

"Why don't you join us, Luna?"

"Don't mind if I do," Luna said happily, climbing into the carriage with them. In typical Luna fashion she had wandered the train throughout the journey, so Hermione hadn't had much of a chance to ask about her summer.

"How is the rebuilding going at home?" Hermione asked. The Lovegood home had been pretty well destroyed, but that didn't mean anything when anyone in the family was competent with their wand.

"Oh, Daddy and I put that to rights quite quickly, you know. It's striking how much the extra story added in terms of weight, however—Daddy still isn't quite sure he has the stabilizing charm right, but the worst that could happen is the building falling down about his head and he's quite used to that now."

Hermione smiled, thankful that at least the Lovegoods seemed to be back to normal. She listened to her friend prattle on about blibbering humdingers and dirigible plum harvests and bucktooth sawfizzes eating their radishes, content to utter the occasional "Mmm-hmm," to appease Luna. Ginny met her eyes briefly and rolled them with a small smile, then returned to her conversation with Neville.

Hermione's attention was pulled back fully when Luna grabbed her hand suddenly. "Oh, Hermione, do you hear that?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. She didn't hear anything in particular, and said so. "Sorry Luna, I can't hear anything."

Luna peered at her, then waved her hand near Hermione's ear, as if coaxing something into her palm. She leaned closer, her hand suspended between them, then shook it and sat back, nodding decisively. "The peperit viregos are singing for you. You know what that means, don't you?"

Bemused, Hermione shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Luna."

Luna's face took on that dreamy expression that they were all familiar with. "You will."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny as Luna swiveled her head to the window, the gate of the castle within view. They stepped down from the carriage and past an unsmiling Filch, into the courtyard and toward the entrance hall. Her feet had no sooner touched the flagstone inside the door when she was halted by someone calling her name.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione would know that voice anywhere, especially since she knew exactly what had caused the rasp that was now overlaid like fine sandpaper over Professor Snape's lilting drawl. She turned, not quite sure what she was expecting to see. He seemed taller, but he was dressed in the same severe black, the same flowing robes that seemed to have a life of their own.

"Yes, Headmaster?" She refrained, but only just, from biting the inside of her lower lip as she had been wont to do for five years under Professor Snape's harsh glare. She had broken that habit during sixth year, and she wasn't going to return to it now, despite knowing far more about him than she knew about any other Hogwarts professor.

"A word, if you please."

Hermione followed the dour professor to the spiral staircase, but she didn't catch the password he uttered before the stairs began turning. No one else was in the hallway, so Hermione was not quite sure that this had anything to do with being Head Girl, until they got to the top of the stairs.

"Have a seat," Snape said brusquely, assuming his seat with the familiar gesture of sweeping his robes behind him as he sat in what had been Dumbledore's chair. Hermione had not seen the changes that Snape had wrought in the office over the past year, but Dumbledore's gadgets were mostly gone, replaced with an assortment of Potions ingredients, grimoires, and various odd curios that were probably not to be trifled with. The portraits of previous headmasters either dozed or looked down politely at her. She did her best to ignore the twinkling gaze of Professor Dumbledore, located out of direct line of view, thankfully.

"You are… _clever_ , Hermione Granger, so there won't be any beating about the bulberry. I've chosen you to be Head Girl, and I expect you to take those responsibilities seriously."

"Of course, sir," Hermione replied, somewhat stunned by his use of her first name. Before she could ponder that further, the grind of the stairs heralded the arrival of the prospective Head Boy. Her head swiveled to see who it was while Snape stood, impatiently placing both hands down on his desk. Her mouth fell open when Draco Malfoy came into view. He raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, _"So?"_ as Snape said, "I trust that the tardiness of your arrival is not a poor omen for my choice, Draco."

"Not at all, Professor," Draco replied, shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear relaxed. He wasn't about to say he'd been held up by a toad of a Ravenclaw trying to egg him into a duel outside the boys' lavatory. Hermione broke the stare first, which was probably for the best, as he wasn't sure he could handle the mix of emotions flaring across her face.

"Sit."

Draco sat in the chair next to Hermione's, giving his godfather his full attention despite the urge to continue looking at Hermione. _You can smell her, be content with that_ , he groused at his instincts. It was damn hard to feel at war with his suddenly oversized id.

"As you have probably guessed, I have asked Draco to be the Head Boy this year."

Snape paused to take in the effect of his pronouncement on Hermione, and she belatedly realized that her mouth was still slightly open. She closed it immediately, aware that it was incredibly rude.

Apparently that was all Snape had been waiting for.

"As you may well imagine, there is quite a bit of unrest still remaining among the students after the war. You were both at the top of your year before the war overwhelmed your school careers, and you were both highly visible participants who happened to fall, in _public_ , on opposite sides. As such, you are uniquely placed to help along the reintegration of the school. I am sure you can see how important it will be that you both work hard to present a united front in the face of lingering antagonism between certain Houses."

Hermione felt that this was an impossible task to place on them, and said so immediately. "Professor, with all due respect, it's not the purview of the Head Boy and Head Girl to enforce friendly relations between Houses. Historically the Heads have been responsible for enforcing school rules and helping younger students find their way around the castle."

"That's not quite all, Granger," Draco said, his gaze suddenly fixed on her. "They have also been responsible for snooping out trouble before it gets out of hand."

The irony of his statement was not lost on any present, and caused Hermione to briefly clinch her hands. Snape ignored her stiff posture and pinned her with his patented patronizing stare.

"I am well aware of the responsibilities of the Head Boy and Head Girl, Miss Granger; however, I would hope that someone of your purported _intelligence_ would appreciate the informal role that the Heads played in establishing the culture of competition between Houses. I have already instructed the staff to refrain from engaging in the puerile sort of sport and betting that the professors would entertain themselves with, but which only fostered inter-House rivalry. I trust this will aid you in your attempts to reconstitute a semblance of civil behavior. I simply ask that you and Draco put aside your personal past and work to show all Hogwarts students that the path forward is one of civility and tolerance, not thinly veiled contempt. Or, have I misjudged you, and you find this level of magnaminity beneath you?"

"No, sir," Hermione replied, sitting up straighter in response to Snape's challenge.

"Good." The Headmaster turned to Malfoy, the satisfied expression on his face gone as quickly as it had come. "And you, Draco. Do you promise me to refrain from engaging in verbal battle with those idiots who have not the faintest conception of the types of pressures that _some_ bore unwillingly and quite defiantly? Because I would not hesitate to strip you of your badge and your _privileges_ should word of any such incident reach me."

"Yes, sir," Draco said, with a touch of just enough insouciance that Hermione gritted her teeth at the fleeting thought that Snape would cut Draco far more slack in this 'arrangement' than he would ever offer to her.

"Good. Now, there are some changes to the castle to accommodate the sudden influx of pupils in comparison to the last few years." A map unrolled itself from the ceiling, the changes highlighting themselves without any help from Snape.

"Due to the cramped nature of the dormitories with so many eighth year students, as well as the return of students who were home-schooled last year, I am reinstating the separate Heads' quarters. They are located on the third floor, near the library, behind a portrait of Marko Kraljevic. You will have your own shared common room, but _complete_ privacy charms on your individual living quarters. The temporary password is 'instinct'."

"What are these new rooms, Professor?" Hermione asked, pointing to a highlighted area of the map.

"Nothing to concern yourself with at present." Snape closed the book in which he had made a few brief notes, standing with a slight swirl of robes. "Now, I believe it is time for the feast. Shall we?"

* * *

"There you are," Ginny whispered as Hermione slid onto the bench, nodding at Neville across from them. "I suppose you're Head Girl, then?"

"Later," Hermione said as McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the stool. It opened its crooked mouth, another cryptic song starting off the year.

 _A time of change has come to you,_

 _And memories remain._

 _Scars daily remind you, of all you've lost and gained._

 _Think carefully on what has led you here,_

 _Of what you should have learned._

 _Not all is at it seems, nor have we all learned._

 _A magical creature is on the loose_

 _Though harm is not his intention_

 _New loves and old hurt_

 _Will grab all of our attention_

 _Watch for the watchmen, who may guard_

 _More than their good._

 _And strangers passing by_

 _Have more than usual interest_

 _In schoolyard games and goings on._

 _Be wary and cautious in forging on ahead_

 _Know that trust is earned and freely given_

 _When students use their heads._

 _Wands and wits about you now, a new society_

 _Is waiting for your guidance, so study passionately!_

Hermione clapped politely with everyone else, taking the opportunity of the Sorting to look around the hall. The Slytherins were noticeably ostracized, the Ravenclaws keeping their backs turned to them. The older Slytherins were alternately defiantly meeting the glares thrown their way or keeping their heads down. She noticed Draco was one of the former—hardly a surprise. Sighing, she turned her attention to the feast. The abundant food was a welcome contrast to the way she had spent her previous autumn. Shoving aside thoughts of edible mushrooms, Hermione chatted with her fellow Gryffindors and did her best to enjoy her meal. Finally, her attention was drawn to Professor Snape, who was now approaching the podium.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. As you continue to craft new lives and goals for yourselves, I urge you to consider Hogwarts as a fresh start. Much has gone on in the previous year, and indeed the two decades before that, that many members of our society would wish to put behind them. By focusing on the new opportunities before you, we can all do our part to shift our attention to the future, where it belongs. Rest assured, those who fail to do so will suffer the most _severe_ of punishments." Snape paused, his cutting gaze lingering on the oldest students. There was little doubt what he meant, an implicit threat to those who might stir up trouble from the past.

"Now, to the Head Girl and Head Boy. I am pleased to announce I have chosen Hermione Granger—" Hermione felt her hand being squeezed by Ginny before Professor Snape finished, "—and Draco Malfoy. It is my fervent wish that the pair of you will set an _example_ for inter-House unity and acceptance that will carry the school forward from the recent dark days. Congratulations to you all, and good luck."

Hermione was frozen for a second when Malfoy's name was announced. It was public now, irretrievable. Then she was caught up in twinned congratulations and commiserations from her fellow Gryffindors, replying with a small smile and thanks. The feast broke up soon after, the prefects helping to line up the first years. Professor McGonagall gave them each their badges, her voice brisk and business-like. Hermione took hers and opened her hand to look at it, dimly hearing McGonagall's voice ushering the prefects out to begin their patrols before turning her attention to Hermione and Draco.

"I suggest you consider meeting tomorrow to decide how you want to allocate the prefects' duties and when you will hold your weekly meetings. I will show you to your quarters and explain what privileges have been extended to the Heads this year. Congratulations to you both. I expect good things from the pair of you."

Hermione forced herself to meet her professor's eyes. "Of course, Professor."

"Naturally, Professor McGonagall."

Draco's response was the essence of courtesy, but Hermione could see that it felt threadbare to her professor. Her Head of House gave a sniff and cast her weather eye on Draco one more time before she swept from the hall, leaving them to follow behind to the third floor, where she swiftly said the password to the shared common room.

"Your shared quarters are on opposite ends of the common room, there, and there," McGonagall said. "Neither is permitted past the archway to the other's quarters. You have been assigned a house elf, Twinky. You may have tea and light refreshments in the common room, but are expected to attend all meals. Any arguments concerning your shared facilities should be brought to your Heads of Houses. Do you have any questions?"

"No Professor," Draco said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes.

"No thank you," Hermione said.

"Well, I will leave you both to get settled in your rooms. Good evening."

Professor McGonagall left, and Hermione fingered the throw on the sofa. Two desks were set up at opposite ends of the room, each with some shelves to fill with books or whatever trinkets they chose. The fireplace was adequate and the room was warm enough, but she doubted she would spend time hanging out in it when Draco was around.

"Well, isn't this an interesting turn of events, Granger?"

Malfoy's laconic drawl was irritating her more than it should. Drawing a deep breath, Hermione lifted her head to meet his gaze head on. If she had to do this, she would do it. She could be professional and courteous to Malfoy so long as he showed the same courtesy to her. For the most part, she would do her best to avoid him, and ignore him unless that was not possible due to a shared duty.

"I wouldn't know," Hermione said primly, taking in the last details of their shared common room with a sweep of her eyes before she went to her own room. "Good night," she called out belatedly from her archway. Once the door to her room was closed, she cast a silencing charm and locking charm for good measure. _Could there be a worse boy to have as her fellow Head?_ Ron and Harry would have a fit. Resolved to write to them at once, she sat down at her desk. Best to get it out of the way, then.


	5. Duties

**Hi folks. It's been a long time since I've updated this, so thank you for still following and reading. I've been too, too busy with work and family concerns, and I've not had the energy to approach this story. However, I have finished the next little piece and wanted to share it with you. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

"Up early, aren't you Granger?"

It was to her credit that Hermione didn't flinch, instead turning slowly away from the owl, which flew off with the letter to Harry and Ron. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

"True," Draco affixed his own letter to one of his two owls, briefly patting the magnificent eagle owl before it took off with his letter to his parents. He waited for her to finish affixing her second letter, his brow furrowing. "That's a transfer owl for the international post, you know that right?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Yes, I do know that, Malfoy! I'm not an ignorant Muggle," she said, turning to face the obnoxious prat as the harpy eagle took flight.

Draco held up his hands. "No offense intended. I just can't imagine who you'd be mailing internationally instead of using the Floo Express. International owl mail isn't exactly reliable."

"That's none of your business," Hermione said tightly, sweeping past him, muttering under her breath. He caught part of it—"nosy prat"—and then she was gone.

"Well, that went well," he announced to Pimm, his second owl. She gave him a long blink, and he ruffled the feathers at the back of her neck. "That's the spirit, Pimm, shake it off. Think long term."

* * *

Long term turned out to feel far too long. Despite the fact that they shared most classes, it seemed to Draco that Hermione was going out of her way to avoid him. There were plenty of students giving him a wide berth, of course—pretty much all of the younger students from any house other than Slytherin went out of their way to avoid him. He got more than his fair share of muttered imprecations and 'accidental' hits from older students brushing by him in the halls, but he set a mild repelling charm after the first afternoon and that prevented much of that as the first week wore on.

By the second week he was miffed that Hermione was clearly going out of her way to avoid him. She hadn't answered the note he'd left affixed to her door asking to talk with her about their duties, and he'd had enough. He set his alarm to wake up half an hour early, determined to catch her before she went to breakfast.

"Oy, Granger!"

Hermione stopped, turning to face her unwelcome fellow Head before she stepped through the portrait hole. "Yes?"

"I was wondering when we are going to decide on the prefects' schedules for patrols, like McGonagall said. The professors will end their beginning rounds Friday. Would today after classes work for you?" Draco took in her neatly pressed shirt and half-Windsor knot in her Gryffindor tie. She looked like she had slept well, but she was still too thin for his taste in the brief look he allowed himself.

"Yes, that is fine. I'll ask Professor McGonagall for the prefects' schedules, and be here by 4:30 pm," Hermione said primly. She doubted it would take more than an hour, and she intended to escape to the Gryffindor common room as soon as possible when they were done.

"Great. See you then."

Her brow wrinkled briefly at his cordiality, but she ducked out the door before he could say anything else. Resolved to make the meeting go as smoothly as possible, Draco called, "Twinky!" Breakfast could wait.

In the Great Hall, Hermione slipped onto the bench across from Ginny and helped herself to some tea and toast.

"So, how is it, sharing quarters with the Ferret?" Ginny asked, taking more sausages. "God, I missed the food here."

"I know what you mean," Hermione said, slathering marmalade on her toast. She had a sweet tooth that had been rarely indulged in the past year, and the combination of the tart orange peel with the sugar was irresistible. "And he's been fine, so far. Actually I just went straight to bed last night, and I didn't hear a peep from him."

"He's probably afraid to piss you off. You haven't exactly been shy in warning him off when he's a prat. I'd say he's just here to get his official N.E.W.T.s and then he'll be off to do whatever it is that the indolent Malfoys do with their time…careful to stay on the technically legal side of the law, of course."

"Frankly, I don't care. I just want him to do his job."

"Ha! Well, good luck with that! I'm betting he pawns all of his duties off on the Slytherin 7th and 6th year prefects. Looks like he's already starting," Ginny said, gesturing to the other side of the Hall. Hermione turned her head and saw Draco talking to the 6th year Slytherin prefect, William Longfellow.

"Ugh." Focusing on her toast, Hermione would not allow herself to be irritated by Draco. When she didn't need to deal with him for their duties, she intended to give him a wide berth. There was only so much bridge building that Professor Snape could reasonably expect!

When Hermione entered the shared common room at precisely 4:30, she was surprised to find Draco waiting for her. She had expected him to be late, making her wait for him to show up. He had transfigured the table by the couch so it was of a good writing height, and he had already drawn up a blank table for the prefects' patrol schedules, and a separate table on a different sheet of parchment for the Hogsmeade trips.

"Ah, there you are. I've already started getting things organized, if you don't mind," Draco said, gesturing to the parchments. "Shall we get down to business?"

"I have the prefects' class schedules," was Hermione's curt reply, which Draco noted with a raised eyebrow. He said nothing, however, as she put her bookbag down by the couch and sat, without bothering to summon another chair. He would take such small encouragements where he could find them. "And I was thinking that, apart from considerations of labs, we should try to keep amiable Houses together on patrol."

Draco knew full well what she meant by that. She was hoping to avoid having patrol duties with him. Fortunately, he already knew the prefects' schedules, and she would find that a bit more difficult than intended. To her, however, he merely said, "If that suits you, it's fine by me."

Hermione's brows flared briefly at his acquiescence, but he was already turning his wand to the small table in the corner which had a tea tray on it, bringing it forward and securing it to the floor next to him. "Do you want some tea?"

He was looking at her with a perfectly polite expression, one eyebrow raised in query. Hermione frowned slightly. _What is wrong with Malfoy?_ He was being courteous when they were alone and he had unfettered opportunity to criticize her.

Realizing that she was taking too long to reply, Hermione said, "Yes, please," for lack of a better answer. He poured two cups, then asked, "Sugar? Cream?"

Dumbfounded, Hermione accepted the cup of tea with some misgivings. It could be poisoned, or the cup could have been laced with any number of potions. Frowning, she set the cup aside and tried to focus on the spread out class schedules before her.

Draco noticed that she wasn't drinking her tea, and made a point of drinking his to reassure her. She was too polite to run diagnostic spells on it in front of him, but he doubted she was going to drink it. _Damn it._ _Right, just move on._ He sat down next to her, rearranging the sheaves of parchment. Hermione opened her mouth to complain, then realized that he had put the fifth and sixth years in the proper order. Draco noticed but ignored it, saying, "So, shall we begin with the fifth years?"

They worked efficiently through the scheduling for the fifth years, deciding easily that prefect meetings would take place weekly on Wednesdays, and that trips to Hogsmeade would be supervised by the sixth and seventh year prefects for the most part, with the fifth year prefects rotating in more as the school year wore on and they grew more comfortable with their positions.

Patrol scheduling was more difficult, as Draco knew it would be. They couldn't have any prefect who had a late afternoon Potions or Herbology class on patrol the same day, and depending on the enrollments in the classes and whether there were advanced and regular sections it left them with very few workable combinations for evening patrols.

"Okay, this is what we'll do. I'll patrol with Herbert Longshanks from Ravenclaw on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and you can patrol with Liang Alasdair from Hufflepuff on Mondays and Thursdays. That should sort it." Hermione sat back, pleased that she had avoided having any patrols with Malfoy.

"That's an excellent suggestion, Hermione, except for the fact that we haven't taken into account the Quidditch practice schedules. Herbert is on Ravenclaw's team, and he'll have Quidditch practice on Wednesdays."

Hermione stared at him with an odd expression on her face. Draco mentally rewound what he just said as she blurted out, "You used my first name. What is _wrong_ with you?"

She thought she must have missed the sarcasm in his tone. There was no _way_ Draco _Malfoy_ would voluntarily use her name in a normal, polite manner. She narrowed her eyes as he hesitated to reply. Something was off about the whole thing.

"You put something in the tea, didn't you? And you mixed up the cups, so now it's YOU that is feeling the effects of the _Concilia_ potion! I'd almost feel sorry for you, but I can only imagine the disgusting things you would have tried to get me to do if you'd succeeded. Well, the joke is on you, Draco Malfoy!"

Hermione stood up, causing Draco to stand as well. She realized belatedly how close they were to each other, the difference in their heights being all the more apparent. _I upset him_ , she realized, noticing how he was breathing more rapidly, and a slight flush had stolen across his cheeks. It was how Malfoy had always looked after Harry had been needling him, an unwelcome reminder that she had just accused him of trying to slip her a potion.

"For the record, _Hermione_ , I didn't do anything other than ask Twinky to get us some tea. Twinky!"

The house elf popped into the room, her wide eyes taking in both of them. Draco ignored Hermione and the stabbing pain in his heart, demanding, "Twinky, could you please tell Hermione how you prepared our tea?"

"I puts the hot water in the pot to warm it, then adds the tea, and more hot water, then the tray and the cups, sugar, and nice fresh milk, mistress Hermione!"

Hermione was unprepared for the direct gaze of the house elf, and Draco wasn't going to explain her concerns for her. "Well, I just wondered if something was off, not due to you of course Twinky, but perhaps a _contaminant_ was added to it."

Twinky blinked in surprise, then nodded knowingly and said, "I will check it right away!"

As the house elf bustled toward the teapot and cups, Hermione felt the strangest lump forming in her throat. She knew in that instant that she was mistaken, and that she had been terribly rash to boot. She stole a glance at Draco, who was staring at her unapologetically. Hermione broke eye contact immediately, instead watching as Twinky swirled her finger through the steam above the tea left in the teapot, and zapped Hermione's untouched cup of tea.

"Twinky is so sorry, Mistress! The tea has _oxidized_ , it has, and the flavor may be bitter! Oh, bad, bad Twinky, not to check and use only the freshest tea for the Head Girl! I is a bad house elf, bad!"

Hermione was horrified as Twinky plunged her hand into the still hot tea in the teapot in an attempt to punish herself.

"Twinky, stop! Don't do that! I was mistaken, it's perfect!" She took a healthy swallow of her now too-cold tea to prove it, waving her hand franticly at Twinky. "It's lovely! Delicious!"

Draco watched her with raised eyebrows, his hands in his pockets. He was about to say something when Hermione pointed at Twinky, begging, "Please, stop her! You called her—Circe, I feel terrible—Twinky, stop!"

Draco finally had the chance to speak. "Satisfied that I'm not trying to poison you now?"

The house elf was now banging her head against the table, causing the tea tray to rattle. Hermione didn't know if she was more annoyed with herself, Draco, or Twinky for overreacting.

"Yes! Just please make her stop punishing herself. You know house elves—what can I say?"

Twinky was now moaning loudly about her failure in making tea, the simplest of all tasks.

"Twinky, obey your orders!"

Hermione frowned at Draco's stern yell, but it worked. Twinky finally registered that she had been given a direct command and raised her head from the table. Draco kept his attention fixed on the house elf, lest she disappear to punish herself again. He was not going to chase a house elf down to the kitchens.

"You have been told that the tea is fine. I thank you for _verifying_ that that is the case. She intended no slight on your ability to prepare refreshments for us."

"Thank you Twinky," Hermione said, annoyed with herself for losing control of the situation and relying on Malfoy, of all people, in how to deal with a house elf! "That will be all."

The house elf winked out, taking the tea things with her.

"Um, thank you," Hermione said awkwardly. Draco gave her a side glance, and she felt blood rushing to her face. "And I apologize about accusing you of dosing the tea with a potion."

In his previous life, Draco would have rubbed her face in the error. Now, though, he just felt drained.

"It's nothing. I'm used to it." He cleared his throat. "Let's just get back to the scheduling."

As Draco sat back down, Hermione was struck by the uncomfortable feeling of being not only wrong, but horribly, hugely insensitive. Draco was hunched over the parchment again, but it struck her for the first time how horribly he was being treated by nearly everyone. Even the new Slytherins were avoiding him, for fear of his reputation somehow rubbing off on them.

"What are we going to do about Longshanks, then?"

Draco's quiet question reminded her of the task ahead, and she sat back down, swallowing the lump in her throat. He knew full well what he was getting into coming back, and she wasn't going to feel sorry for him if most students gave him the cold shoulder. It was the least of the slights they could deal out.

"I suppose we'll have to pair him with Sheila Babbidge. That leaves Ginny without a partner, though…"

All in all it was incredibly productive, and Hermione almost forgot that she was working with _Malfoy_ in an amicable manner. The patrol schedule took quite a bit of effort, and in the end she had to concede that the only way everyone's schedules would work was if she patrolled with Draco herself on Wednesdays and Saturdays. When they were done, Draco copied the schedule, then caused the copies to fold into perfectly shaped paper airplanes, opening the door to let them out.

"They'll go straight to the prefects now," Draco said, catching Hermione's look out of the corner of his eye. She was impressed, he could tell.

"Is that the same spell used by the Ministry for memos?" Hermione asked, gathering up the rest of the papers so she could pretend she wasn't jealous of the spell, sending them to her room with a flick of her wand.

"Yes. I could teach you if you like," Draco offered, putting his wand away and turning to look fully at her.

"Maybe some other time. Excuse me."

Draco watched her skitter off through the portrait hole. _Progress._

* * *

"Hey, Ginny, Hermione, wait up!"

Hermione slowed her steps to give Neville time to catch up to them. A few Hufflepuff girls twittered as he walked by, causing Neville's face to break into a broad grin.

"Look who's popular now, eh?" Ginny teased, exchanging a sideways glance of amusement with Hermione.

"You kill one snake…" Neville joked, turning his attention to Hermione. "So, how did the first patrol with Malfoy go? Any problems with his attitude?"

"Nooo," Hermione said slowly. She still hadn't told Ginny or anyone about Draco using her first name, but she had chalked it up to tiredness on his part, and a wish to have his living quarters be peaceful. "He behaved himself well enough, and the most exciting thing we found was a puffball left crying in the corner of the fourth floor portrait gallery."

"Sounds thrilling," Neville said. "Ginny, how's the team shaping up this year?"

Hermione tuned them out as they began to discuss the players of Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Ginny was the captain, and she still couldn't find it a compelling subject.

"I'm going to swing by the library to see if I can get my hands on a copy of the Verdure Scroll for our Potions assignment. I'll catch up with you later."

After receiving a disinterested pair of goodbyes from her friends, Hermione turned toward the library. She had to backtrack two floors, but it was a more worthwhile use of her time than listening to them talk about Quidditch in the common room. The castle was pretty quiet, most students choosing to spend the hour before dinner in their common rooms instead of elsewhere. As she neared the corridor she'd turn into to head in the direction of the library, she heard the murmur of voices. Drawing closer, she recognized one as Malfoy. Hermione wasn't sure, but it sounded like Ernie MacMillan.

"Not so imposing now that you don't have your daddy and the threat of Voldemort behind you, are you? Go on, explain how you weaseled your way out of a conviction."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't have to explain myself to you or anyone in this school."

Hermione crept forward, casting a silencing charm on her feet. She couldn't see anything yet, and she needed to know what was going on before she could decide if the situation required her intervention.

"Get out of my way." Draco's voice was low but mixed with steel.

"Make me, Malfoy. I'm waiting to hear why you shouldn't be locked up with the rest of the Death Eater filth who murdered my cousin and his family. Tell me!"

There was a high note of agitation in Ernie's voice, and Hermione decided to turn the corner and interfere. There wasn't supposed to be any fighting in the halls, dueling or otherwise, and it sounded like this was headed that direction.

"Right." Draco's wand thwacked into his hand as MacMillan moved his own hand, the shimmer of a spell forming just as Hermione came into view.

"What in Merlin's beard is going on here?" Hermione demanded as Ernie cast the elkhorn hex, which Draco rebuffed. He immediately retaliated with a stunner, which would have hit Ernie had Hermione not intervened, sending the spell into the stone floor with a jagged movement of her wand. "You are not supposed to duel in the halls! Ten points from both Hufflepuff and Slytherin for the appalling lack of manners, and an additional five points from Hufflepuff for making unwarranted accusations!"

"But Hermione—" Ernie began to protest, but Hermione cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Shut up and go away, before I give you a detention too," Hermione ordered. "And YOU—" she said, pointing at Draco, "—you will come with me to see the Headmaster about your behavior as Head Boy! Now!"


	6. Dueling

**Greetings all. No, I haven't forgotten this story. I have been absolutely crushed with work, and my writing has suffered abysmally for it. I'm carving out more time to write, but updates are still going to be spotty here. Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! You encouraged me to chip away at this in my scant free time, and that in turn has reminded me of how fun it is to be writing-so thanks for the poke to keep going with this! I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Hermione heard the swish of Snape's cape cutting through the air before she heard his footsteps. Draco was loitering against the opposite wall, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest as he stared at her expectantly. He had tried to convince her to drop the whole thing, but one blocked _Silencio_ had achieved the desired effect, although they had both wisely put away their wands before Snape arrived.

" _Wait_."

The sharp command preceded the headmaster's steps up the still moving staircase, and Hermione let out a huff of impatient breath as the staircase closed again. Draco simply raised an eyebrow at her and relaxed still further into the wall, a feat Hermione would not have thought possible. She began tapping her toe impatiently until she noticed Draco staring at her, his gaze dropping to the offending foot. She huffed again and forced herself to still, folding her arms in equal measure across her chest. Two could play the cool as a cucurbit game.

Finally, after what seemed like ages but was probably only ten minutes, the staircase ground open again. Hermione preceded Draco up the stairs, treating him to a view of her swaying bottom as she ascended. _There's a view I don't mind in the least_ , Draco thought to himself, a small grin coaxing the corners of his mouth up. Of course, he ran right into her when she stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for Snape to indicate that they should sit.

Seeing the grin on Draco's face just reinforced Hermione's irritation. _How dare he treat this as some big joke! This is why both of us being Heads won't work—he hasn't changed much, if at all._

Snape was retrieving a memory from the pensieve, capping it efficiently in a vial that he sent to a hidden cabinet with a wave of his hand. Hermione was impressed with the effortless wandless magic. She had mastered wandless summoning but hadn't mastered wandless sending charms yet. Snape met her eyes briefly and she thought she saw a flash of dark amusement before she broke eye contact with him. He strode swiftly to the chair behind his desk, sitting and gesturing abruptly to the chairs before him.

" _Sit_."

Hermione took the furthest seat, sitting on the edge of the chair instead of draping into it as Draco had done. Snape placed his elbows on his desk, the billowing sleeves of his robes settling slowly on the desk as if they had a life of their own.

"Now, pray tell, what could possibly have brought you two to my office this afternoon so close to the dinner hour? Do you not have enough _work_ to do?" His stare was pointed, and Hermione sat up straighter.

"I encountered Malfoy beginning a duel with Ernie MacMillan. I believe this is counter to the duties of Head Boy, and I question his judgement if he believes it appropriate to duel in the halls, regardless of the provocation."

Snape's gaze swiveled to Draco, who had had the sense in the time she was talking to straighten up in his seat. "And what is your explanation for this?"

"MacMillan was in my way and refusing to move. He accused me of murdering his cousin, and insisted I tell him details of my trial."

"That's not true—he didn't accuse you personally of murdering his family. He just said you were like the other Death Eater…" Hermione stopped talking when Snape's laser-like gaze snapped to her again, one eyebrow sardonically raised. She turned her attention to Draco instead, whose expression was nearly identical, except he seemed to also be…sad?

"The other Death Eater filth," Draco said sharply after a moment's awkward silence. "I'm well aware of what he said. I hear it a hundred times a day."

He shifted his gaze from Hermione to Snape, a bit of his own irritation finally bleeding through.

"I was given the authority to defend myself. He attempted to hex me, I blocked it and sent a Stunner at him. The end. I'll do the same to any imbecile who wants to blame me for everything done in the war if they refuse to let me go about my business—and it would help if my fellow Head would acknowledge my right to do so."

Hermione felt her face flush at that and opened her mouth to speak, but she got help from an unexpected quarter. Snape laced his fingers together and directed his attention back to Hermione, drawling in his laconic manner, "I am assuming that your sense of righteousness demanded you punish them for the infraction of the rule against dueling. What punishment did you assign?"

"I deducted 10 points from each of their Houses, and an additional 5 from Hufflepuff for unwarranted accusations."

"It seems to me that your fellow Head has acknowledged your right to defend yourself by applying the minimally required punishment," Snape observed drily. "I trust that is sufficient caretaking of your relationship as Heads for the day. You may leave."

Hermione was unwilling to accept the tacit dismissal of Draco's behavior, and mulishly pushed her point. "But Professor Snape, I would like to point out that you specifically requested that we _both_ make an extraordinary effort to get along _and_ set a good example for all students. Malfoy dueling in the halls violates that commission!" she paused to take a breath and get control of herself, looking down at her lap briefly before resuming her speech to Professor Snape. "If he can't control himself in the face of extreme provocation, I don't see how we can work together as you have asked. The Head Boy shouldn't be dueling in the halls, period. He's supposed to be an example of control and best behavior for all students."

Snape stood slowly, placing his hands on the edge of his desk before he spoke. "Miss Granger, has it not occurred to you that Draco is likely to face duels and challenges for the rest of his life? I myself still deal with them, despite the disgusting frivolous reporting of the Daily Prophet about my activities during the war. It is far better for Draco _and_ those who wish to seek their pound of flesh that they attempt to do so here rather than after leaving Hogwarts. At least _here_ , I can somewhat control the repercussions, and hopefully those involved will emerge from the experience wiser and a bit relieved of the burden of their anger. Or do you think it right to punt these feelings down the road and let their rage bubble up unexpectedly elsewhere, when it may involve family members, public disgraces, and possibly the Aurors?"

Hermione, feeling very uncomfortable under Snape's leaden gaze, looked at Draco again. His hands were clenched at his sides, and she thought she saw a muscle tic in his temple. "No, sir."

"I thought not. I have no problem with you enforcing punishments for dueling, Miss Granger, but do not let your return to idealistic notions dissuade you from considering your hard-won pragmatism regarding the Dark Arts. You of all people should respect the strength of will required to remain sane when exposed to every cruel variant that magic can devise. Since not every student has had that experience, I suspect you will encounter more duels in the halls before this year is through. Draco, a word. Miss Granger, leave."

Hermione walked past Draco, missing his worried look at the blank expression on her face. The stairs grinding open obscuring the beginnings of Snape's conversation with Draco.

* * *

"I can't…"

The words seemed to leak out of her mouth without her knowledge. Snape apparently knew more about what Bellatrix had done to her than anyone else.

Hermione stopped the automatic progression of her feet and shook her head to clear it. She couldn't deal with thinking about that. Snape's reasons for choosing _her_ to work with Draco became clearer—he knew that in her fairness, she would give him credit for holding out against the cruelty that warped so many others.

She wanted to mumble about Draco being punished further as she finished packing that away again in her mind. _Dinner. Yes._ She continued toward the Great Hall, but knew she wouldn't complain to Ginny about Snape's treatment of Draco. If she were being honest with herself, she didn't think he had been terribly unfair. It was the same reason she couldn't bring herself to impose more than the required point deduction. With a sigh she realized she wouldn't even tell Ginny about the aborted duel.

A part of her felt bad for Malfoy, too. He kept himself to himself, apart from doing the requisite Head duties. Irrespective of whatever Draco had done, the fact that he was free today was less of an issue for her than it was for others. Alvatore Beramine and Kingsley were not wizards to be trifled with, nor would they have been swayed by the Malfoys' considerable pocketbook, as so many believed. No, if Draco had been let off, it was because he really _had_ avoided doing anything too terrible. It was awfully shitty behavior to wriggle out of things, but anyone familiar with a Slytherin should expect expert level dodging of blame and a keen nose for avoidance of incriminating situations. She had to admire that ruthless efficacy a tiny bit—even if she still thought he was a pompous, spoiled git.

* * *

"Draco!" Severus' tone was sharp, but it needed to be to pull Draco's attention from the door where his erstwhile mate had just vanished from view.

"What?" Draco knew his tone was a bit whiny, but he couldn't help it. Snape's brow crept up infinitesimally in response, but Draco wasn't about to apologize.

"I have decided to revive the Dueling club in light of your recent… _skirmishes_. I strongly suggest that you be the first to sign up. Perhaps if they get a legitimate forum to take their cracks at you, the hallway incidents will decrease."

"Wonderful. Let's invite onlookers, by all means. I'm sure it will do wonders for the reconciliation and harmony you envision being restored."

Snape's tone turned cooler, and he leaned across his desk. "Well, perhaps it would help if you actually disclosed your identity to your mate. I suspect that seeing the golden Gryffindor on your arm would go some way to put a new spin on the future for more than one student."

"I'll just chase her down right now and tell her, shall I? Because nothing says 'true love' like the force of Ministerial laws surrounding magical species. I'm sure she'll leap right into planning the wedding." The bitter, hollow bite behind Draco's words told Snape all he needed to know about Draco's present state of mind.

"I am reminding you that this whole arrangement was designed with not just the student body as a whole in mind," Snape replied calmly. "Speaking of your needs, I believe I have found a suitable area for you to use should you require a private space in which to vent your frustrations. You will find it located on the fifth floor, near the infirmary tower. The entrance is concealed behind a portrait of a harpy."

"Oh, ha, ha," Draco muttered. "That doesn't help much with the flying bit, does it? It's not going to be big enough for that."

"I have thought of that as well. If you keep to the northeast portion of the forest past the centaurs' clearing, you should be able to fly in the gloaming without attracting attention."

Draco perked up a bit at that. "Thanks, that will help," he admitted.

"And are you still having nightmares?"

Draco shoved himself violently out of his chair and paced away to the window, gripping the stone window ledge hard enough that he feared his claws would come out. "Who told you about that?"

The rustle of Snape's capes warned Draco that he was approaching, and he turned to face him before he could get closer. He never had been able to hear things like that in the past, his enhanced hearing another constant reminder that he was different, changed. It felt like pins and needles were crawling over his skin, and the interested expressions on some of the portraits' faces didn't help. "Don't."

Snape stopped, taking a deep breath. "Your mother, of course. She is quite concerned, since you didn't see fit to mention it to me or to Madame Pomfrey."

"As if I'd ask that biddy for anything," Draco retorted angrily. "She's always got an expression of disappointment on her face whenever she glances my way."

Snape reminded himself that he had earned his patience under the Dark Lord, and one hormonal, angry Veela was not going to destroy it with his moodiness. "Irrespective of your feelings about her, she can provide you with appropriate sleeping draughts. Your irritability will not improve if you are not sleeping properly."

Draco hunched over the window ledge again, his voice muffled as he said, "I have to be aware enough. I have to _know_ she's all right."

"Salazar save me from martyrs," Snape snarled. "Twinky!"

The house elf popped in, bowing. "How mays I serve the Headmaster?"

"Do you know what he is, Twinky?" Snape asked brusquely, indicating Draco with a flourish of his hand. Draco turned his head to meet the gaze of the house elf, his body still hunched over the window.

"Yes, sirs. Young Mister Malfoy is a Veela, sir, but Twinky knows it not be her place to tells anyone about magical bloodlines, no sir!"

"Of course you do, Twinky. However, Draco is not sleeping well because he is insecure about his mate. You know about the mating process of Veela, don't you Twinky?"

"Oh yes, sirs! My first mistress was a Veela, and I served her alls throughs her courtship of her mate! That is why you assigned me to—"

Draco dropped his head again and shook it. _Of course. He and my father probably picked through the whole assortment of house elves here and at Malfoy properties to find one with experience serving Veela._

"Yes, enough explaining! My _point_ , Twinky, is that Draco needs to know his mate is safe. Would you please deliver a worn garment to Mr. Malfoy as part of your regular laundry rotation of Miss Granger's things? Nothing intimate, please. A shirt will suffice to provide enough healthy scent."

"For fuck's sake, is nothing sacred?" Draco said as he straightened up from the window. "And what is Hermione supposed to think if she finds one of her worn shirts in my room? She'll think I'm nuts, AND that I broke through the wards into her room!"

"To do so, she would have to break through the wards into yours," Snape pointed out. "And as long as neither of you gives the other reason to, you cannot enter without permission…and are you _really_ telling me you cannot habitually conceal such an object? And I thought you worthy of your House," Snape sniffed.

"I don't like it. It's an invasion of her privacy," Draco said stubbornly.

"Would you prefer to be driven near feral by your needs and insufficient rest, such that you claim her abruptly?" Snape retorted.

"NO!" Draco slammed his fist into the window ledge, shaking some stone dust from it with the force of the blow. Snape heard him mutter, "Damn that hurt," as some of the portraits chattered loudly about violence in the Headmaster's office and lack of respect for school property. He ignored them all and addressed the house elf again.

"Twinky, make it so."

* * *

"Welcome to the first meeting of the Dueling Club!"

Madame Hooch's voice boomed out over the assembled students, cutting the chatter down to nearly nonexistent. Snape's looming figure in black behind her gave added clout to her call to order, and she walked neatly from side to side on the dueling platform as she talked.

"Now, dueling can be very a healthy and useful way to blow off some steam in the same manner as flying, and for this reason Professor Snape has asked me to supervise the meetings. At times when I cannot be present, either the Headmaster or another equally capable duelist will be here to supervise and offer instruction in the finer points of dueling. Because of recent events, we will be restricting duels to fourth year students and older, and we will segregate duelists by age. We expect all of you to abide by the International Dueling Federation standards in all duels. If you are old enough to participate and assent to these rules, please signify by signing the charter."

That was the signal that Hermione and Draco had been instructed to wait for. Both efficiently pinned a piece of parchment to opposite walls, their signatures already affixed. Draco then stood back with his arms crossed, surrounded by a crowd of Slytherins as they waited to affix their signatures. Gideon Wright, the sixth year Slytherin prefect, leaned in and murmured, "Now it's all above board and official: they can challenge any Slytherin they want with impunity."

"Perhaps that is the point," Draco replied in an equally low tone. "Let's get this shit cleared up. I'm tired of it."

He heard a few mutters of assent, and let his gaze drift over to Hermione. She, of course, was surrounded by Gryffindors and a few Hufflepuffs, her arms similarly crossed. A small frown formed on her brow and he realized he was staring again, so he let his gaze drift to her neat signature on the parchment. His improved eyesight allowed him to follow the symmetrical loops of her handwriting, the elegant line of her cursive g's. _Fuck me, I've got it bad,_ he thought to himself, forcibly jerking his attention back to the platform as Snape stepped forward.

"To kick off this year's Dueling Club, we have arranged two demonstration duels with the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy, and Head Girl, Hermione Granger. To begin, Madame Hooch will duel Mr. Malfoy; then I will duel Miss Granger. Please observe the two foot rule with regard to distance from the dueling platform in case of stray hexes. Madame?"

Draco made his way forward, ignoring the mutters that had become customary background noise. He removed his wand from his sleeve in the efficient manner that was a mirror of his father, then performed the requisite bow to Madame Hooch at the opposite end of the platform.

"Everte statum!"

Madame Hooch's first spell was verbal simply for the sake of the younger students, but Draco felt no compunction to stick to verbals only. It was not specified in their instructions, after all. He blocked it and sent a nonverbal, a tarp materializing out of thin air, but just to the left of Madame Hooch, who commented, "Ah, Draco has not only used a nonverbal, but cleverly sent a Pammesto charm where one would expect Pependi, thus making it more difficult to counter—not today, Mr. Malfoy, and stick to verbals, if you please."

With that the commentary ceased as they began to trade spells more quickly. They had been instructed to use simple spells in nontraditional ways, and eventually Madame Hooch landed a Rostratus hex, which should have caused him to grow a beak. Draco turned away from the audience quickly—the Rostratus hex didn't produce typical effects on Veela.

"Thank you, Madame Hooch and Draco," Snape called, stepping forward from the middle of the dueling platform with a flash of sparks, as if in celebration. It was a Dumbledore-esque move, but distracted everyone effectively enough that Draco was able to pretend to reverse the spell's effects and turn back quickly to shake Madame Hooch's hand.

"Thank you, Professor. Good duel."

"Yes, excellent technique, Mr. Malfoy. Your nonverbals are impressive," Madame Hooch said, then nodded for him to leave the platform. He passed Hermione on the stairs on the way down, and murmured, "He drops his wand a tiny bit with Stunners," causing her to give him a puzzled look as she continued up the stairs. He muscled his way to the front of the crowd, uncaring of the looks he got for doing so. He wanted to be right by the platform in case of anything happening. _Calm down, Severus Snape is not going to hex your mate in front of you._

Hermione was not so much nervous about dueling Professor Snape as she was curious. There was no question that he was a better duelist, but she wanted to see what tricks he had up his sleeve. Doubtless she'd learn at least one new application of a simple spell, and that was part of the reason why she'd agreed to the demonstration. She also felt it was part of her job, and it was a way to reclaim dueling as more fun and less survival oriented. As she bowed to Professor Snape, she had a brief second to wonder why Draco had offered the warning before the duel began.

Like Madame Hooch and Draco's duel, they were restricted to verbal spells only, and Snape had offered the additional challenge of only up to fifth year spells. Hermione had spent her evening reviewing them, and had come up with a suitable set of attacks which might work. Unlike Madame Hooch, Professor Snape felt no need to offer any commentary on her choices, his dueling style being far more efficient and ruthless. He simply shut down her Aguamenti, then displaced the fence and boulder she tried to send his way while sending a repeated volley of Stunners and Silencios that she avoided. She stumbled slightly from a tripping jinx, and it looked to everyone that he was going to get her with the next Stunner he sent—but Hermione shot the Silius charm simultaneously and it hit just above his dueling arm, exactly as Draco had suggested. Snape jumped in the air, and she could swear she saw a tic in his temple as she physically dodged his Stunner.

"Somnus!"

This one she couldn't dodge, and she slumped immediately, asleep. Fortunately Snape's reflexes were sufficiently fast to keep her from hitting the platform, and he immediately performed the reversal, darting a quick look at Draco. He looked annoyed, but Snape had acted fast enough to prevent Draco's wand from coming out. Snape made a mental note to remind Draco about his mate's capabilities with regard to dueling, saying to Hermione, "Welcome back, Miss Granger. I trust you had a pleasant nap."

The students laughed, and Hermione nodded politely. She had expected nothing less than a slightly cutting remark when he landed whatever spell would end the duel.

"Thank you for the duel, Professor."

Snape nodded and didn't bother to dismiss her from the platform, trusting that it was implied. He turned to face all the students. "I trust you will find this a suitable exercise for your creativity and your _minor_ irritations. I will remind you that public dueling is still outlawed by the Ministry, and anyone caught dueling outside of formal engagements in this club will be severely punished...which punishments I will _personally_ oversee. Dismissed!"

Hermione heard a lot of commiserations from her peers as they began to exit the room.

"Good show, Hermione. I guess you can't expect to beat Snape," Neville said philosophically.

"You held him off longer than I'd have thought you would," Ginny said, and then Prasanna Patil came up and told her how impressive her footwork was. Hermione smiled at Parvati and Padma's younger sister, murmuring, "Thanks," as the beaming prefect bounded away.

"Do you remember being that innocent?" she asked as the three of them made their way toward the Great Hall.

"Yeah," Neville said. Hermione's gaze drifted across the crowd of students making their way to dinner, and somehow her eyes locked with Draco's. He was by himself again, the Slytherins having already dissipated in clumps of twos and threes.

"Thank you," she mouthed silently.

"You're welcome," he mouthed back, giving her a slight smile.

She broke eye contact again, her attention brought back to her friends by Ginny's laugh at something Neville said. What was going on with Draco Malfoy?


	7. That Strange Tug

**As promised, here is the next chapter. I thank you profusely for your reviews, Mc111, Gamma Draconis, Born in 20th Century, Sampdoria, xXMizz Alec VolturiXx, mshccs, and Elliesmeow! I wanted to do personal PMs as replies, but work is still nuts. I had to post this today, though, so I prioritized that over the PMs. I hope you'll forgive me! Please, all of you who are enjoying this, let me know what you think. It's so uplifting to hear from you! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. :) Forgive me for any editing errors-I am about to fall asleep but want to get this out before the work week starts.**

* * *

 _Scritch, scritch, scritch._

Draco looked up from his desk, turning his head to eye Hermione across the room. Her quill was moving furiously, a typical work habit when she was focused, he had found.

 _Scritch, scritch—_ the sound ceased, replaced by flipping pages, then resumed. Draco's head dropped back, then he slid his chair back and turned halfway around in it, his arm draped across the back.

"Hermione."

The scribbling paused briefly, then resumed. This time he was a bit louder.

" **Hermione**."

The quill finally dropped, and Hermione pushed her chair back with a squeak, imitating Draco's posture.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

At least her voice wasn't as cold as ice any more when she said his name.

"Your quill makes quite a bit of noise when you're working on your homework, and it turns out I have rather sensitive hearing. It's rather distracting for my own work."

Hermione puffed up slightly at this, and appeared a bit offended. "There are silencing charms, Malfoy. Use them."

"But I need to be able to hear the door," Draco said quickly. In actuality, he didn't give two sickles about the door, but he did need to be able to hear Hermione. "Would you mind using a different ink? That would help. I have an extra bottle of eel ink, here."

He held out the bottle, the label declaring it to be Scrivener's Supremely Fine Eel Ink, Dark Black. Hermione still looked suspicious, so he added, "Please. I need to be able to concentrate, and this _is_ a shared workspace."

He could see that she had caved before she stood, reluctantly crossing the room to his desk with a sigh to take the ink. "Fine. I'll replace it for you."

"Don't worry about it," he said, hyper aware of those few brief seconds of contact between their fingers as she grasped the bottle. "Using superfine parchment would help, too," he added.

"Don't push it," Hermione warned, retreating back to her desk and resuming her place. Draco stayed where he was, watching her uncap the new bottle, then dip her quill into it and begin to write again. The scratching noise was nearly gone, and Draco smiled to himself as he resumed his own work.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione!"

Hermione turned to greet Neville, who came over quickly, ducking his head to speak in a low tone. "Do you know where Malfoy has been disappearing to?"

Hermione turned from watching the first years practice flying, her full attention now on Neville. "No. What do you mean?"

Neville looked around again. Hermione had noticed that he was extra sensitive to being overheard, and had guessed that the Carrows had been particularly vicious when it came to eavesdropping. He must have been satisfied with the relatively deserted state of the corridor, as he continued, "It's just that a few of us have noticed that he seems to disappear on afternoons like this—you know, when we have some free time. It seems odd…he's not going down to the dungeons, and the Room of Requirement still isn't functioning, but we can't figure out if he's staying in the castle or sneaking out by some passageway we don't know about. It seems awfully suspect, you know? What could he possibly be doing?"

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly, but she wasn't going to encourage anyone in stalking Draco…after Snape's warning, it was likely that Draco would hex first and ask questions later, and Snape would permit it. "I'll look into it, Neville. We do share a common room, so I probably know his comings and goings better than most. If there's anything suspicious, I'll let you and Professor Snape know about it, all right?"

"Okay, Hermione. We'll continue to keep an eye out for him, too, whenever he's out and about. Just because Snape vouches for him doesn't negate all of his poncy behavior, eh?"

Hermione let the corner of her mouth tilt up slightly. "Yeah, you're right about that. Thanks Neville."

Try as she might, Hermione could not figure out exactly what Malfoy was up to on the afternoons when he seemed to disappear. To be fair, it was hardly her first priority—the term had begun in earnest, and the assignments being given to the eighth years seemed especially difficult. Professor Snape had instituted a mandatory seminar series for eighth year students _only,_ and his expectations for their papers were as onerous as ever. Their first seminar had focused on Magical Law, and they were supposed to spend the next three weeks covering the intricacies of the court system, statutory rights of protected magical creatures, and the legislative process from Ministry to Wizengamot.

Quidditch try-outs were today, and Ginny was the captain for Gryffindor. She supposed Draco would be on the Slytherin team, but as long as he wasn't dueling in the halls again she didn't really care what he did. Thus far they were getting along in their shared common room, and she had noticed that he had the same diligence about his work that she did. It only made sense, given how closely they had always competed grade-wise. Still, it reminded her that there had always been more to Malfoy than she'd seen.

 _It doesn't matter to me anyway,_ she told herself, turning her attention back to the letter she was writing to her parents. They hadn't replied to her last missive, but it would take time to restore their trust after such a large memory spell. The healers at St. Mungo's had warned her that it would be a long road, and she was determined to persist in reminding them of all the love in their family of three, not just two. She glanced at the clock, pleased that she had just enough time to post the letter before dinner.

*-*  
Draco took in the Slytherin Quidditch trials with interest. He wasn't able to compete himself any more due to being a Veela. Snape had cleverly covered for him by telling the Slytherin crew that Draco's tendency to attract unwanted attention due to the war would only hurt the team overall, and after that the team captain selection had proceeded apace. They had chosen a sixth year by the name of Thaddeus Parrott, who was quite a good Beater and also happened to possess a brain. He thought they would hold their own well enough, although the new Seeker was an inexperienced moppet. She was fast, but it remained to be seen if she could maneuver well enough.

He pushed off of the bench in the stands. It was less exciting to be watching Quidditch tryouts when he wasn't playing himself, and his mate wasn't even in the stands waiting for Gryffindor's tryouts to begin as he'd hoped.

As he headed back into the castle, Ernie Macmillan bumped into him again, despite his repulsion spell. It was obvious from the boy's clenched fists and set jaw that he did it deliberately, his face cold as he stopped in his tracks in the isolated cloister corridor.

"Watch where you're going, snake."

"Just can't keep your oafish ways contained, can you Macmillan?" Draco sneered. "I'll be sure to address that in our duel next week."

"Why wait that long? Or are you so stuck up your own arse that you can't handle yourself without a wand, eh?" Ernie taunted, flexing his arm in a clear indication that he was spoiling for a fight.

"As if you'd know anything about using your hand for anything other than wanking—but I suppose I should expect nothing less given your family's history," Draco retorted. "Or was it _not_ your great-grandfather who was accused of rigging Muggle magic shows to increase your family coffers?"

The ensuing fight was no less brutal than it was quick. While it was true that Draco was speedier given his Veela instincts, he had also learned quite a bit about dirty hand-to-hand combat during his time in the Death Eater ranks. If anything, the fight was less satisfying than Draco would have liked. Macmillan had landed one good hit on his cheek, which would heal by tomorrow, but he was certain he had cracked a few of Macmillan's ribs, as well as given him a black eye and a split lip. Draco pivoted as Macmillan tried to get in another hit to his face, easily pinning Macmillan to the floor, his arm twisted behind his back to keep him controlled while he leaned down to warn him off with a hiss of impatience.

"Just remember that I learned a lot more from the Death Eaters than how to cast Unforgivables. I'll dish out more if you dare to pick a fight with me or mine again, do you understand me? And that extends to your friends, just so we're clear. I'll beat the shit out of anyone who wants to try to get a piece of me. Nod so I know you truly _appreciate_ what I'm saying to you, Macmillan."

Ernie's face was twisted with anger, but he still nodded against the rough stone of the cloister. Draco let him up, his hand on his wand in case Macmillan decided to do something even more foolish. "Fuck off."

He watched Macmillan stumble back toward the castle. Draco had no worries that he would tattle about their fight: he would get into more trouble, in all likelihood, and he'd have to admit that he lost. His hands clenched again, and he felt the telltale quiver of his talons itching to burst out. Draco knew it was close to dinner, but he couldn't trust himself when he was this worked up. He turned left and toward the room Snape had allotted to him: it was time to burn off some energy. Fuck dinner.

Hermione was about to head to the Great Hall when out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco heading in the opposite direction, brusquely brushing past some younger students without so much as an apology. His posture was stiff and his pace was hurried, which pricked her attention.

"Hermione! Coming to dinner?" she heard Prasanna call from the hallway.

"Yeah, be there as soon as I can. I have to take care of something first," she said, not caring if Prasanna heard the reply or not. She was intent on tailing Draco. He seemed to be making for the infirmary, but then he didn't go to the entrance. Instead, he went up a narrow spiral staircase that was rarely used by students. As far as Hermione knew, it only led to Madame Pomfrey's chambers. Warily, she approached the stairs and began to creep upward. She had no idea how Draco would respond if she encountered him, and his behavior was a bit too odd for her to feel comfortable surprising him. She drew her wand and cast a dim _Lumos_ , following the stairs up, past the fourth floor door that she knew was Madame Pomfrey's chambers. She didn't think there was another story to this part of the tower…was this part of the new rooms she had glimpsed on Snape's map of Hogwarts?

As she got closer to the fifth floor, she heard what sounded like a loud thump. The landing was small, with two doors, and there was very little light. She wondered which door to try, ignoring the sudden increase of her heartrate. There was nothing to be worried about, it was just Draco.

"Just Draco," she told herself very quietly, then reached for the nearest door handle. As she lifted the latch, she began to hear vicious thwacks and bangs. It was enough noise to camouflage the sound of the door latch being lifted, and she gingerly crept around the edge of the door.

What greeted her eyes had her transfixed. Malfoy was shirtless and blindfolded, attacking a series of dummies of all different styles. They were enchanted to move, and he was moving quickly to retaliate, not missing a single strike. His movements were efficiently brutal, yet Hermione could not look away.

He crouched, spinning to kick while his arm lashed out to connect with another dummy. Her mind struggled to put together anything coherent…instead she was overwhelmed by an avalanche of impressions. _Elegant…trained…lethal…controlled_. Even those vaguely stuttered thoughts ceased as her eyes were drawn to how he had filled out a bit, the muscles across his shoulders flexing as he whirled and struck a dummy attacking from the left, then pivoted to strike another pseudo-attacker with his hand. Something about that move seemed wrong, somehow, but she couldn't focus properly. He turned again and she got a full view of his chest, which sparked a strange glimmer of heat inside her. She drew in a sharp breath; a faint, odd noise escaping her lips before she could prevent it.

Draco stopped immediately, calling, "Who's there?" as he drew off his blindfold.

Hermione turned and fled. Draco, still breathing heavily, crossed to the door, but whoever had been there was out of sight. He inhaled sharply, getting a particular scent. _Well, well…_

* * *

For some reason Hermione could not settle at dinner. She heard the conversations swirling around her, and even contributed some half-hearted comments to keep it flowing, but she couldn't get her mind off of what Draco had been doing. What was the purpose of that kind of ongoing training? Did anyone know he was doing it? And if so, why was it such a secret?

She wouldn't acknowledge to herself that more than academic curiosity was driving her interest. She hadn't realized he was so… _fit_. He had always seemed slender, but from what she'd seen today he was clearly all muscle in that lanky form. And what possible reason could he have to be trained in Muggle style combat? Perhaps there were magical elements she had missed…it wasn't as if she were a magical martial arts specialist.

Lifting her gaze, she saw that Draco was still missing from the Slytherin table. A glance around the room showed nothing obviously amiss…everyone else seemed to be accounted for. She looked at the head table and found McGonagall chatting with Snape. Perhaps McGonagall would know about the room, and Draco's practices in it. After her last dressing down from Snape, she felt as if she would be accused of looking for reasons to get Draco into trouble if she brought this to him. With a sigh, she pushed her plate back and excused herself from the table.

"Oh, Hermione, you are coming to the common room, right? Ginny's going to be discussing the new roster for Quidditch!"

She shook her head quickly. "No, I'm sorry—I've got plans."

Resolutely she approached Professor McGonagall. Occasionally the professor would allow for a cup of tea to discuss something with a favorite student. She hoped the professor would deem this one of those times.

"Professor? Would it be possible to speak with you in private?"

McGonagall eyed her over the rim of her glasses, then exchanged a glance with Snape. "Well, Miss Granger, I believe it would be possible to spare a few minutes for you this evening. You may come to my office in a quarter hour."

"Thank you." Hermione left the professors to finish their discussion, moving back down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables. She didn't notice Ernie Macmillan's swollen lip.

* * *

"Professor, I have had a few students approach me with concerns about Draco disappearing many afternoons. It just made them uncomfortable, and reminded them of sixth year, so I said I'd keep my eye out. Today I happened to see Draco disappearing into the infirmary tower, and I followed him to a room above Madame Pomfrey's chambers. He was practicing some type of martials arts, with a lot of enchanted kendo dummies and such…I just wanted to know—to be sure—that someone is aware of this? I just don't know of any prohibition, but likewise it's not very usual for a student to have what is like a private gym…"

Hermione trailed off under the eagle eyed stare of her Head of House, and sat waiting for the professor to speak. She didn't flinch, as she didn't feel her question was in any way inappropriate, and finally Professor McGonagall let out a sigh and sat back slightly in her chair behind the desk.

"Yes, the professors are aware of Mr. Malfoy's exercise room, and what he does in it. I doubt any silencing charm would work well enough to prevent Poppy from hearing him—that witch has the hearing of a long-eared bat. Suffice it to say, it was deemed prudent to provide him with a place to let off some steam, given the nature of his past and the abuse that, unfortunately, is regularly hurled his way."

"I see," Hermione said slowly, although she wasn't sure that encouraging violence was entirely appropriate. "And if he should put those skills to use against a student?"

"Then he would be subject to the same disciplinary code as anyone else. We do not tolerate misbehavior, either of the physical or magical variety."

Hermione met her professor's gaze unequivocably. "I wonder at providing a purpose-built space to encourage physical altercations. Is that really necessary; and if so, are there not other students who would benefit equally from being made aware of this exercise room?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, I assure you, there are many very good reasons why Mr. Malfoy does in fact require such a space, and further why it must remain for his private use alone. I could insult your intelligence with some blather about Dark magic, but it is more complicated than that. I suggest if you continue to have concerns about this matter, you make an appointment with Professor Snape. I'm sure he would be _happy_ to explain in great detail why this facility is essential to Draco's well-being during his time here. Alternatively, you could ask Mr. Malfoy himself to explain the peculiar nature of his need for such a facility. Now, is that all you wished to ask about?"

"Yes, Professor. Thank you for your time." Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Hermione excused herself swiftly from the office. After she left, McGonagall sighed again, then floo-called Severus.

"I have instructed Miss Granger to seek answers from yourself or Draco directly regarding his facility in the infirmary tower. And I do wish you would permit me to drop greater hints, Severus. The poor girl has not got a clue yet."

Severus' head looked oddly younger in the flames. "My next seminar should help, as I will focus on Veela in particular. And Draco's need for Miss Granger's worn shirts may have to be revealed to prod him into speaking up."

"You're a dreadfully manipulative wizard," McGonagall scolded, but it was more out of habit than anything. There were times when Slytherin stealth was called for, and a pair of war-weary soul mates was probably one of them!

* * *

When she returned to her common room, Hermione found Draco sitting on the couch, writing what looked to be a letter on the coffee table. She wondered briefly why he wasn't using his desk, but remembered that he hadn't been at dinner, and sat down next to him to ask him exactly why.

"You missed dinner. Where were you?"

Draco turned his head to look at her briefly. "I had something to take care of, and then I had a shower. Since when are you interested in my goings on, hey?"

"Fair enough," Hermione mumbled, not quite having the courage to ask him outright about the practice room. She was still disconcerted by the mental pictures she'd taken. Every time she thought about it her brain seemed to focus in hyper detail on how fit he was. Since that made her uncomfortable, it was safer to just not think about it at all. She decided to change the subject.

"What are you working on?"

Draco didn't look at her as he replied carelessly, "The new Arithmancy assignment. I thought it would be better to set up the scaffold equations first, then treat the problem as a test case for the framework, instead of trying to customize the framework around the problem."

That was exactly what Hermione had thought about that assignment, too.

"That is a good idea. I started something similar earlier…" Hermione said, summoning her parchments and ink from her desk. "Did you start with Godwin's algorithm or Teitsin's?"

Before she knew it, they had been working together on the problem for a good few minutes. She hadn't realized it until her back gave a twinge, and she sat up to stretch it. Draco did the same, and she noticed that he had folded up his shirtsleeves. The sinuous lines of the Dark Mark were in view, the dark black ink in glaring contrast to his pale skin. He caught her stealing the glance at his forearm, and sat back quietly.

"Go ahead and ask. I can tell you want to."

Her eyes drifted up to meet his, uncertain. "No, it's fine. It's none of my business."

"I'm not going to continue working on this equation until you ask, Hermione, so just get it out. What do you want to know?" Draco's mouth was set in a thin line, but it wasn't an unpleasant expression he was giving her. His eyes were frank and open, the gray irises cool, appraising.

Hermione straightened up, crossing her legs at the knee and her arms across her chest. "How much choice did you actually have in that?"

"After my father was sent to Azkaban, the Dark Lord made it clear that I would be taking his place. Given his residence in our home, I don't think choice entered into it." His eyes flashed a bit and his posture changed to a more defensive hunch. It somehow made her feel sorry for him.

"I read in the papers that you claimed your secret trial by right of blood. Is that true?"

Hermione was not particularly well versed on wizarding law, but she had read about that a lot after all of the media speculation surrounding Draco's trial, and Snape's recent lecture on the court system had further whetted her interest. A blood right could be claimed if the Dark Mark wasn't really present in someone's blood, if they were of a protected class of magical species, or if they were operating under the orders of the Ministry of Magic itself, although that last was a murky rationale that was not explained very well in any sources she'd read. The best analogy she had come with in the Muggle world was the Israeli Mossad or some similar, shadowy government entity.

"Actually, I didn't specify the clause exactly, but yes. That's when Kingsley took me out of the room, and things proceeded from there."

Hermione couldn't help but notice that his eyes had darkened a bit. Uncomfortable, her gaze drifted down, and she saw his left hand clench, making the ink of his dark mark seem to wiggle. She felt a strong urge to touch the skin there, to see if it had a different texture. Forcing her thoughts away from such a strange direction, she looked him square in the eye again.

"And Snape testified on your behalf."

"That is not common knowledge, but yes, he did," Draco said, leaning forward so his hands draped between his knees, casually crossed. "I was put here at Hogwarts underneath him for a lot of the time, so he knew exactly what I did and didn't do during my time here."

"So he told you what to do? Like your boss?"

A fleeting wry expression crossed his face. "Far preferable to the other one."

"What did you have to do for _him_?" The question was quiet, but Hermione broke her gaze away, unwilling to look at him as she finished asking it.

Draco felt the habitual shame flush in, and straightened purposefully. Those days were _over_. "Other than trying to kill Dumbledore? Well, after I failed at that, I got all of the shit jobs. You don't want to know what I did. Suffice it to say, I was part janitor, part newsboy."

Draco's tone was bitter, and Hermione looked at him again. He was tense, his fist clenched with just a tad more force than could be comfortable. He was still looking at her, though, bravely meeting her eyes with his own. It was hard to say which emotion was predominant—anger, disappointment, shame.

"I'm sorry."

And she meant it. It was too much to ask of any teenager, and all of them had been put in the absolute worst situations that were completely beyond their control.

"Me too. But the terrible thing is, a lot of people will never let me forget it. No amount of sorry will erase it…and whoever I marry and have children with will have to live with it, too."

He stood up abruptly and went to his room, leaving Hermione feeling sad, just a bit cold, and more confused than ever. What exactly was she doing with Draco? Her rational mind piped up, _Snape asked you to make an effort_ , but it felt like not just a hollow excuse, but a _lie_.


	8. Speaking of Magical Creatures

**Hello all. Thanks so very much for the reviews. Even though it's been ages since I updated, it helped encourage me to get back into this story when work finally settled down. It's been a hurricane-force kind of year. Thank you for the kudos and wonderful comments! I hope you like this next chapter. I have the next few outlined, and will be working on the next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Draco was indulging in his usual habit, which was surreptitiously staring at Hermione while eating. Longfellow was prattling away in his ear about something to do with Ravenclaw and Quidditch practice times, but he only required an occasional murmur to keep going. There was the usual hubbub as the mail delivery began, with all types of owls swooping low to deliver letters and packages. He got two letters that he glanced at desultorily: a letter from his mother, and one from Blaise. He was still peeved at that bollock for backing out of returning for the eighth year.

He glanced up again to see that Granger had not gotten any mail, again. He knew she had mailed letters off to people, but clearly they weren't replying. She said something to the Weaselette, then left the Hall.

"Excuse me," Draco said abruptly to Longfellow, standing up from the table to follow Hermione. He was delayed, however, by Gideon Wright.

"Draco, I have to speak with you."

Thwarted in his attempt to follow Hermione, he answered rather curtly. "What is it, Wright?"

Gideon was a reasonable chap, of an indifferently placed family, but clever enough and probably destined for a decent job at the Ministry. He was smart enough to know which side his bread was buttered on, so he ignored the pique in Draco's tone. It wasn't smart to alienate a Malfoy.

"I've gotten a few reports from the firsties. There's trouble."

"Fuck," Draco muttered under his breath as Longfellow joined them, his keen ears picking up on the news of trouble.

"What are we going to do about it, then?" Will asked, sticking both his hands in his pockets as he adopted his characteristic slouch.

"What we've always done. Look out for our own." Draco cricked his neck, then fixed his gaze on Gideon as Sheila Babbidge strolled up. "Meeting in the common room for the fifth years and up tonight after dinner."

"I'll spread the word," Gideon said, nodding.

"What's going on?" Sheila asked.

"Will can tell you. I have things to do." Draco turned on his heel, ignoring the dark looks from Macmillan and company as he passed the Hufflepuff table.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice bounced off the walls of the Astronomy tower as she came up the stairs, her Quidditch robes dirty from a particularly messy practice. She smiled when Hermione turned from the railing. "Thought I saw you up here when I was on my broom. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." Hermione folded her arms across her chest. She didn't know what had compelled her to come up the tower, but the view of the forest and lake were certainly soothing. She felt more alone this year, probably from being quartered separately, as well as not having Harry and Ron always around. At least, that's what she was telling herself was the source of her niggling dissatisfaction.

Ginny flopped down on the only available sitting surface and leaned back against the wall. "I've had a letter from Harry. He said that he and Ron are planning to come visit us in Hogsmeade next weekend!"

"Oh?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Nice of them to tell me about it."

Ginny blew a stray piece of hair out of her face and frowned. "Has my thickheaded brother still not written you? Typical! Harry, though, should know better. Well, he'll be getting a piece of my mind about that, let me tell you!"

"It's fine. I know they are busy with training. God only knows what Kingsley's successor is making them do—I've heard he's not the kindest wizard," Hermione said wryly.

"Merlin yes! Dad said that Mfupa Kuponda is a terror of an Auror, and he has no idea how Kingsley persuaded him to move here from Malawi. He's like the Auror equivalent of _Snape_. I pity the fool who crosses him." She paused and then frowned. "Crap. I forgot that I have to write an essay for Potions. I don't suppose you have reference books on murderous mosses lying about?"

Hermione shook her head. She'd never say it to anyone else, but so far she was less than impressed with Professor Mauviet, their new Potions professor. "Sorry, my topic was pernicious pellitory. Want some help in the library?"

"Yes please! I'll get cleaned up and meet you there."

* * *

A Wednesday afternoon after 4 pm was just about the worst time in Draco's book. Most students were out of classes, except for the unfortunates in Herbology or Potions, and dinner was two hours off. That meant students had to do homework, were probably cranky from being hungry, and had enough time left over to get into trouble. He had privately dubbed it the Slytherin Hunting Hour. This year more than ever, the sobriquet applied. At the informal meeting last night, the Slytherin prefects had reported a subtle but steady uptick in 'accidents' involving their younger House members. It was just the sort of petty thing that flew under the radar if the prefects and Heads didn't shut it down, as Draco knew personally from being on both the giving and receiving ends.

For his part, Draco viewed it as a routine piece of school, but things had taken a nasty turn during the war, especially under the Carrows. Hence it was not surprising to him that the school corridors were again seeing nasty, underhanded incidents. However, all the older Slytherins agreed it was unfair to punish their newbies, and a series of informal patrols were arranged to ensure the younger Slytherins were left alone for the most part. The older Slytherins knew how to take care of themselves, or they wouldn't be in Slytherin. The younger ones, though…they hadn't been taught yet how to get by. Until the older Slytherins got them in hand, it was up to Draco, Longfellow, and the like to see that they weren't chum.

"Sheila." Draco nodded as he passed the fifth year prefect. She had come from the direction of the courtyard, so Draco veered left, toward the east wing.

Hermione was quite confident that she was going to beat Ginny to the library, but there was always work to be done revising. One good thing about the Heads' quarters was that it was closer to the library than Gryffindor tower! She was a floor away when she heard what sounded like a shrill cry. Turning the corner, she saw a group of third or fourth years down the corridor, huddled close together around one, no two pairs of shoes visible amongst their robes.

"What is going on here?" she demanded. The group broke off and ran just as Draco came into the corridor behind her, revealing two first year Slytherins, one of whom was crying. Hermione hurried over to them, patting the crying boy on the shoulder. "It's all right now, they've gone. Can you tell me who they were?"

Draco, standing behind Hermione's bent form, silently shook his head at the two firsties. He recognized one of them, a Mulciber. It didn't matter that she was a distant relation of Philemus Mulciber, the Death Eater. Her name was enough for some to condemn her.

"No," said Mulciber, a girl whose fists were clenched. "And in the dim light I am not sure what House, either."

Draco looked at Hermione and could see she was nonplussed by that answer. He got down on his heels to look at the boy, who was somewhat small for his age. "What's your name?"

"Arnav Gusaphandra," he said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe. Draco made a face, then removed his wand and conjured a handkerchief, which he held out to the boy.

"That's disgusting, Arnav. We expect better manners in Slytherin. Take that and learn to use it. Now, you, Mulciber: what happened?"

"It's Agnes, thanks, and they were bullying us. Calling us names and threatening to hex us when our backs were turned, like the cowards they are."

Draco approved of her attitude, if not her foolishness. He must have shown some sign of approval for the girl's behavior, because Hermione flashed him a vaguely disapproving look before speaking to the boy again.

"Arnav, did you see their ties? Their faces? Anything to help us identify them?"

Hermione was clearly in her rescue avenger mode, and Draco sighed. There was nothing worse than the noble Gryffindor urge to fix everything. Arnav looked at Agnes before replying, her raised eyebrows gave little doubt about the message of silence.

"No, I didn't see anything," he said in a thin voice.

Draco asserted control of the conversation again. "Don't wander the halls by yourselves before dinner. Now, get to the common room and find Sheila for a reminder on what's expected of your House."

"Yes, we will," the Mulciber girl nodded. "Thank you, Draco. Come on Arnav!"

Hermione was giving Draco an equal expression of disgust when he looked back at her.

"Exactly how was that helping? That poor boy was frightened to death by those students bullying them, and you didn't exactly encourage them to speak up!"

"First, it's not very likely that they'd even know who those students were, as they weren't Slytherins. Second, you have no proof that those students were doing anything wrong, as you didn't hear anything, or see anything more than two first years with some older students. Third, even if you had gotten them to tell you anything about who they were, what do you think you're going to do, ask two firsties to pick them out of a line up?" Draco clamped his mouth shut before he could add anything more about avenging Gryffindors that he'd certainly regret.

Hermione was irritated by the sense of what Draco said, so she went right for the weak spot. "What exactly did you mean when you told them they needed a _reminder_ on what's expected of their House? All Houses have the same expectations: courtesy, study, respect, and integrity. Pray tell, what extras has Slytherin added to the student conduct code?"

Draco turned to fully face her, reminding Hermione yet again that he had several inches on her in height. Oddly, it didn't threaten her in the slightest the way it used to.

Draco was relishing the way she looked when she was indignant. _Promising on the passion front…_ Clearing his throat to remind himself that now was not the time, he adopted his normal expression of disaffection.

"I don't recall asking you what goes on in the Gryffindor common room. Were you were heading to the library?"

"How can you be so unfeeling about your first years? Ugh!" Hermione shook her head and walked off, ignoring his question and him entirely in her pique.

* * *

The next morning Draco watched again as Hermione received no letters. This time at least her friends seemed to notice: the Weaselette gave her a consoling hug, and Longbottom indulged in some typical buffoonery with the butter dish. He could see that it wasn't quite doing the trick, though, and he resolved to discover exactly what was going on with her correspondence. It was nothing that some tracking spells and creative sleuthing couldn't crack.

Longfellow noticed the direction of his gaze and mistook its purpose. "You're right in thinking that Weasley is going to be a pain in the arse on the field. I'd say Thaddeus is going to have his hands full managing against them. Good thing he's got the team practicing that new Chapeautil maneuver. Should see them through. Doesn't sound like Kroscill and Ravenclaw have it down, though. He's bluffing about it, but if Weasley cracks on to that, she can pummel them at their match. It's the only defense against the Sguzi Flip!"

"Hmmm, you're probably right there," Draco replied, his gaze drifting to Ginny Weasley. _What a useful piece of information…perhaps the tracking spells won't be necessary after all._ He belatedly realized that Longfellow was still prattling at him, and tuned back in to hear a question about something to do with Hogsmeade.

"Yes, my parents are planning to visit this weekend. Should be good weather for it." Draco turned his attention fully back to Will. "Just be sure there are enough hanging back to keep the youngers out of trouble until they learn how to manage it for themselves. We don't need the first infirmary overnights to be Slytherins."

"You can bet they won't be," Will muttered darkly. "Especially if the dueling club continues to be bloodless."

"Thanks for the reminder," Draco said sharply. His duel with Macmillan was coming up, and he was quite certain that blood would be drawn during _that_. The question was, how much, and whose would spill first?

* * *

Professor Snape's robes swirled with their customary sharpness as he abruptly pivoted at the front of the classroom, his trademark disapproval radiating from him as he began the seminar.

"Irrespective of your _lackluster_ education regarding magical creatures, it is more relevant than ever to have more than a basic understanding of how Magical Law governs our interactions with magical creatures. Today we shall focus specifically on the rights and privileges accorded to some magical creatures, and discuss the limitations and restrictions imposed on others."

Several eighth years shuffled in their seats as Snape took a pointed look around the room. Hermione was displeased given the certain justifications which would be offered for magical restrictions on house elves, for example, while Draco was annoyed by what he felt was a dangerous push to give werewolves more freedom from monitoring. Snape was annoyed to note that the students were still segregated into houses, but continued his lecture.

"Given the ongoing work by the Wizengamot to reconsider and revitalize statutes considering certain types of protected creatures, it will be most useful for you to take not only excellent notes, but to ask pertinent questions as well. Now, the first magical creatures we will discuss are broadly classified as non-humanoid. They generally do not have characteristics which are similar to humans, and their general physiology, magical proficiencies, and habits render them essentially wild. Unicorns, of course, fall into this category, as do hippogriffs, dragons, manticores…"

Hermione was taking down notes as fast as possible, well used to Professor Snape's quick lecture habits. She knew Malfoy would take far fewer notes, but would annoyingly retain much of the information. He was clearly an auditory learner. Neville was doing his best to keep up but would ask for her notes later, and as usual Ernie was keeping up but probably would tag team on note-taking with Anthony Goldstein.

Snape spent almost twenty minutes discoursing on the legal treatments and rationales for non-humanoid magical creatures, illuminating the finer points of why various Potions ingredients were therefore costly or illegal (there was a healthy legal area devoted to the legal procurement of body parts) and why it was generally difficult to satisfy all legal requirements to keep any of the non-humanoid magical species as pets or even herd stock (Hermione had to smile at the thought of Hagrid's continual flouting of said laws). Apparently garden gnomes and brownies were considered a grey area, and those who attempted to tame them often suffered enough incidental consequences from the creatures themselves that the Ministry deemed it worthless to attempt to further legislate their treatment.

Finally, Snape turned to the humanoid species, including but not limited to house elves, goblins, Veela, Sirens, Merpeople in general, Harpies, and Medusas. Hermione turned to a new piece of parchment, and Draco grinned briefly to himself as the noise of her quill diminished by another order of magnitude. Clearly she hadn't noticed that he'd switched out her stock for the superfine parchment.

"Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the mandatory legal treatment for the higher order humanoid species, since you seem to be so amused by the topic of this lecture."

Draco looked up swiftly, the arch of Snape's brow a pointed question mark. _Stirring, are you Professor?_ he thought, but it would be a simple enough matter to keep his discourse purely academic.

"Of course, Professor. The higher order humanoid species, namely Sirens, Medusas, and Veelas, are accorded preferential rights and treatment with respect to marriage and inheritance laws, as those species are dependent on their mates for the perpetuation of their species and cannot mate with any but their recognized partner. The centaurs, Merpeople, and Harpies are accorded preferential treatment in property law, as they are highly territorial and, it is suspected, possess hidden grottos, altars, or the like which are of high cultural and magical significance to their species. All humanoid species are accorded extraordinary rights of protection as regards their mates or property, up to and including the ability to kill those seeking to inflict harm, or even perceived to be doing so."

"How dry of you, Mr. Malfoy. I'd almost accuse you of imitating Miss Granger's love for quoting the text word for word, but I believe there was some original thought in there." Draco's eyes flashed slightly at this insult to Hermione, but she didn't seem fazed in the least by Snape's sniping. Snape ignored him and moved along, continuing, "The marital and inheritance specifications for Sirens and Veelas are of the most interest to you as citizens of Wizarding Britain, as Medusas tend to prefer warmer climes. All three species will hone in on a chosen mate within a year of reaching their maturity, and the secretive nature of the courting rituals of these species makes it difficult to know exactly how this is done. However, the current theories hold that it has something to do with magical power and compatibility of temperaments, resulting in the commencement of a courting ritual. These courting rituals, while secretive, usually involve a gradual deepening of the relationship, accompanied by species-specific mating behaviors. These behaviors may include the use of pheromones, song, or a trance to lure their mates into intimate settings, as well as the offering of multiple gifts and attempts to engage the selected mate's attention and emotions. At some point, all three species will cloister themselves with their chosen mate for the mating ritual, which has led to problems of kidnapping claims in the past. For this reason, the Ministry's laws specifically permit the cloistering of mates with appropriate notification being provided, although there have been cases where such notification was not possible. After the mating has been sealed—"

"Excuse me, Professor." Hermione looked up, surprised, as Neville interrupted Professor Snape. "Aren't there also laws to prevent the harassment of some of the humanoid magical species? The female Siren, for example—she would be accosted by everyone if they knew what she was, isn't that right?"

Professor Snape, remarkably, tolerated Neville's outburst without a single rebuke. "That is correct, Mr. Longbottom. While it may be acceptable to gawk at female Veela at a Quidditch match, the fact is that usually one of the genders of the humanoid magical species has an inherent interest in remaining anonymous as a member of a protected magical class. Female Sirens in possession of their majority and without a mate find it remarkably difficult to move about in society without attracting an enormous amount of unwelcome attention, and even after mating may find it difficult unless they take steps to curtail their natural gifts when in large crowds. Likewise, male Veela, who possess the remarkable ability to find their mates at any time once they have bonded with them, find it worthwhile to keep their status a secret in order to prevent any harm or threat to their mate. The law, therefore, is more than accommodating for these species, allowing not just the private and classified disclosure of their status, but also even the help of the Ministry's offices should it be required to execute a mate bond."

Hermione raised her hand. "What is the benefit to the Ministry to see that courtships conclude successfully, apart from the perpetuation of protected magical species?"

Draco leaned forward at his desk, folding his hands casually to belie the interest he had in Hermione's reaction to Snape's answer. To his credit, Snape didn't look at Draco at all as he answered.

"Miss Granger, the humanoid species mentioned all have an uncommonly fixed interest in their mate. As I said, not much is understood as to _why_ a mate is chosen, but we have plenty of examples of what happens if a mate bond is denied or broken. There have been cases of feral Sirens seducing entire fleets to their deaths, simply to atone for the loss of one mate. Feral Veelas have been known to shred defensive battalions to reach a mate denied to them. It is precisely to avoid these types of incidents that the Ministry has enacted laws to enable the success of a mate bond. It is never a question of whether or not the presumptive mate was harmed or unwilling, but rather that others have sought to deny the opportunity for courtship."

"I'd love to have a Veela mate," sighed Daphne Greengrass. "Imagine the _focus_."

"Imagine the horror of discovering your plans for your life are being utterly upended." Hermione rolled her eyes, a gesture that Draco didn't miss. He couldn't help piping up again, his lazy drawl punctuating her self-absorbed bubble as she scribbled notes.

"I imagine that the courting behaviors of a species that is—reputedly—so _attuned_ to the magic, breadth, and depth of another soul would be so incontrovertibly pleasurable as to render those concerns trivial," he offered, exchanging a glance with Snape.

The headmaster barely checked his impulse to roll his own eyes, and got the class back on track. "Suffice it to say that there is sufficient reason behind the lack of Ministerial law concerning the protection of the rights of the magical species' mates. There has never been a known case of a mate registering the slightest complaint with their lot in marriage or mate."

* * *

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

It was impossible to resist Neville's big smile and sunny disposition, and Hermione laughed. Despite the oddities of the past few weeks, it almost felt like normal to be walking to Hogsmeade with a big group of students.

"Yes, it is!" Ginny was practically bouncing, and Hermione elbowed her playfully.

"Not happy to see Harry or anything, are you?"

"Hush you! You'll be just as happy to see him and Ron, and get an update on everything going on at the Ministry!"

Hermione laughed. Everyone assumed she was keen to get a Ministry job when she graduated, but at the moment she wasn't sure what she wanted to do next. She intended to talk to her favorite professors about how they achieved their Masters, and see if she couldn't find out more about the privately held businesses that were the lifeblood of the Wizarding economy. There were vast parts of the Wizarding world with which she'd had little experience, and it would be unwise to make a decision about a career without being informed about all her options.

"I suppose you're glad you don't have Head duties, eh Hermione?"

"Well, I split them with Draco. He's supervising the first half of the visit, and I'm on the second. You can be sure I'm going to make the most of my two hours, though," she said with a wry smile, turning her head to spot Draco at the back of the gaggle of students. He, naturally, had chosen a mix of Slytherin and Ravenclaw prefects to help keep an eye out during his shift, leaving Hermione with a mix of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff prefects. Frankly it suited them both, even if he had probably pawned the worse half off on her. People were always reluctant to leave, not to go.

Setting it aside, she turned her attention back to the village as they arrived. The shopkeepers and residents seemed happy enough to see another crew of Hogwarts students arriving for the year, but as they wandered through the shops waiting for Ron and Harry to arrive, it seemed to Hermione like something was off.

"Feeling unsettled?" Luna asked, popping around the corner of a counter in Honeyduke's unexpectedly. She had a strange looking sweet in her hand, and an odd moving scarf in her hair.

"How did you—" Hermione began, but Luna cut her off.

"I feel it too. Things are put back, but they still seem unsettled here. I would have thought it was an infestation of gnarlyknocks, but it isn't that." She paused and looked around, then fixed her gaze on Hermione. "Stick close to Draco. He'll fidget, otherwise."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what on earth Luna meant (not that it would do much good), but Ginny bounded into the shop.

"They're here, at the Three Broomsticks! Coming?"

There was a hurley-burley of hugging and frantic welcomes and laughs, and eventually they were all settled in the coze of the Three Broomsticks, mugs of Butterbeer all around and the initial teasing over skipping NEWTs or refusing to leave school was dispensed with.

"You're looking well, eh?" was Ron's opening line, accompanied by his trademark grin.

"You git, why haven't you written?" Hermione said with good natured exasperation.

"You know Ron, Hermione—he's been too busy cribbing notes off of me for our exams, plus practicing his broom work for the field trials, when he's not enjoying the attentions of the ladies." Harry waggled his eyebrows, which caused Ginny to raise hers.

"It'd better not be you enjoying the attention of the ladies, Harry James Potter."

"So what's it like, then, with the new head Auror?" Neville asked, opening the floodgates for Harry and Ron to tell them all about training.

"He's vicious with his wand," Ron said. "And he's got a whole slew of spells that the Aurors here don't use regularly. Word is he's writing a training programme in them for the new recruits. We'll get them next year."

"He's doing a good job of managing the weed-out process for the Aurors suspected of falling to the Imperious curse during the war. Once the Internal Affairs team has finished that, they will be combing through all the Ministry departments," Harry said, squeezing Ginny's hand under the table. He intended to get some time with just Ginny if he could manage it.

"My father says they are reforming the Wizarding Business Bureau. He expects that is part of a secret push to track down rogue Death Eaters, and those who are funding them." Luna took a large sip of her Butterbeer, leaving a foam mustache on her upper lip that she wiped away with her sleeve.

"Next round is on me," Hermione announced, standing up from the table. "Same again?"

At the round of nods, Hermione made her way to the bar and flagged Rosmerta with her order. She had just turned to go back to the table when she came face to face with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

"Miss Granger, what a delightful surprise!" Lucius exclaimed, nodding his head politely.

"We're here to visit Draco," Narcissa contributed, giving Hermione a warm smile that immediately put Hermione on her guard.

"Of course. Enjoy your visit," Hermione began, but Lucius was not letting her away that easily, taking her hand in both of his in an expression of familiarity that Hermione did not appreciate.

"Tell us, Miss Granger, how is it to work with Draco so closely this year in your role as Head Girl? We were delighted that Draco would have such an… _accomplished_ counterpart this year. It greatly relieved us, didn't it, Cissy?"

"It's been fine," Hermione said in a short manner, retrieving her hand from Malfoy's clasp and saying, "Excuse me," as Draco entered the pub, his eyes instantly finding her.

"That is good to hear, Miss Granger," Lucius murmured, still not moving enough to allow Hermione to easily pass. Draco joined them with a nod.

"Mum. Father. Hermione."

"Draco, I have another half an hour, I believe," Hermione said.

"Of course. Longfellow is on duty at present, so I can visit with my parents. This is the only time they had today," he offered.

"Right. Well, enjoy yourselves. I have to get back to my friends." Hermione's tone was firm, her gaze fixed markedly on Lucius, who was still blocking the aisle.

"Oh, of course. Pardon me," Lucius said, as if he hadn't the foggiest idea that he had been obstructing her, when all present knew that is precisely what he had been doing. Aggrieved, Hermione was just making her way past him and Draco when the pub shook, a large explosion sounding outside.

"What the devil was that?" Rosmerta yelled, just as the door banged open and the candles all blew out.


	9. Dark Reminders

**Sorry to have taken so long, wonderful readers! I've been sucked back into work early. :( But, I did get a vacation in first! So, that's good. Thank you all so much for reviewing! I will try to reply after I post this, although I have to eat dinner first. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

The flash of hexes from the doorway triggered simultaneous reactions from all present. Hermione ducked, running into a warm barrier before she was thrown to the floor as a table exploded, splinters flying everywhere.

"Fuck!" Draco's eyes acclimated instantly to the almost total blackness, flinching as what felt like a large gash was torn in his wing. "Four o'clock!" he shouted to his father, pulling his wand from his pocket before his attention was diverted once more to his mate, who was determined to squirm out from beneath his wing.

Hermione was almost smothered by the person and their cloak, and could only hear the shouts and noises as spells were traded. She felt something that possibly was an arm, and bit down on it. The person moved back enough that she was able to get out her wand, warning, "Let me help!"

"Ouch!" Draco swore under his breath, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders as she shot off a hex of her own before he pulled her back down as a curse zinged over her head. "Watch it, Hermione!"

"You're suffocating me!" she retorted, trying to wrestle her way out from under the person she now realized was Draco. She nearly succeeded, too, until a red curse winged her arm and Draco pulled her back underneath him.

"I said STAY DOWN!" he practically roared in Hermione's ear, the scent of her blood lighting up every nerve. The blackness intensified as a roll of powder crashed to the floor, stubbornly resisting all variations of _Lumos_ charms and causing both Hermione and Draco to cough violently. She heard several loud crashes, and then the zip of spells abruptly ceased, the second of silence instantly filled with Harry's voice along with Mr. Malfoy's and others. The Floo flared to life, an Auror stepping out as the light crept weakly into the pub.

Draco kept his weight on Hermione, checking her for any injury other than the laceration he spotted at the top of her shoulder. He wanted to tear the heads off of the assailants with his talons, but Hermione came first. He pressed her down fully, bending his head to quickly lick the wound. Indescribable flavors melted on his tongue, and he bit it to keep from moaning. _Ah fuck_ , he thought as he instantly had a raging hard-on. _Not now!_

Hermione felt something warm and wet at the top of her collarbone as Draco put his full weight on her, making it difficult to breathe. For a brief second, her head filled with the unsolicited thought that he smelled quite nice, up close. Her cheeks warmed as she felt just how intimately he was pressed against her. She knew that battles did odd things to a person's body, but… "Get off me!"

"Sorry," Draco said halfheartedly, although he wasn't sorry at all. It was lightening up marginally, which brought up a whole other problem. His shirt was ripped beyond repair, notwithstanding the fact that the Veela in him would in no way permit him to put his wings away with danger still so apparent.

"Draco!"

In the extremely dim light, Draco saw his father, calling out, "Over here!"

He helped Hermione to her feet as his father reached them. Draco felt his father drape his cloak over him a scant second before the unknown Auror got a Lumos charm to stick, revealing more of the destruction and the surviving patrons as they slowly clambered out from behind upturned tables and stools. The glass mirror behind the bar was completely shattered, bits of glass and wood splinters everywhere, but it was still quite murky and difficult to see everyone clearly.

"Everyone intact?" Rosmerta called, standing up from a crouch behind the bar.

"Hermione! You okay?"

Draco was already looking in Harry's direction when Hermione spotted him.

"I'm here Harry," Hermione said, realizing that Draco was still clutching her hand. "I'm fine."

She started to pull her hand away, but then emembered that he had been hit with some type of hex. "You were hit—where? Let me help."

"I'll be fine," Draco said as Narcissa Malfoy, her French twist falling to pieces, stood and took the few steps to reach them.

"I will take a look, Miss Granger," Narcissa assured Hermione as Harry and Ron made their way through the broken tables to them.

"All right Hermione?" Ron asked, apprising the group of them as the light level gradually increased. As his eyes dropped to Hermione's side, she dropped Draco's hand, feeling oddly defensive.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I couldn't see anything—how many were there?"

"At least three," Lucius said grimly, ignoring Narcissa's fussing. "It's just a burn," he said irritably as he leaned on his cane, this time needing it as more than an affectation given the large hole burned through his trouser leg, reddened flesh visible underneath. Hermione frowned. Hadn't he been wearing a cloak?

"Potter! Weasley! Over here. Now." All of their attention snapped to the new Auror in the door, an imposing wizard with a scowling expression. He was not nearly as tall as Kingsley, but his accent and demeanor gave away his identity.

"Mpufa Kuponda, I presume," Draco said, at which his father nodded, tight-lipped.

"Draco, you're still bleeding!" Narcissa exclaimed, drawing Hermione's attention away from the sour expression and harsh gestures of the new head Auror.

"I'm fine," Draco said through gritted teeth. In truth, his wings were retracting as it was apparent that the immediate danger was gone, causing the injury to bleed more.

"You're not fine," Hermione retorted, taking in how Draco was leaning slightly on his father. "Let's see—just take off the cloak so we can have a—"

"No thank you, Granger. If anyone needs to poke at me, I'd rather it be my mother, if you don't mind," he said, even though that was an absolute _lie_. He'd like nothing more than to have Hermione fussing over him, but his eyes swept the room again and found far too many people and far too many watchful eyes taking everything in.

Hermione realized that she was actually _annoyed_ by the fact that Draco wouldn't let her help him. Telling herself that she had no business being annoyed about such a thing, she retreated to her duties. "Right, off course. Well, excuse me. I want to be sure everyone else is well—and one of us should speak to the Aurors, find out if there were any students injured—Excuse me."

Draco fought back the sensation of dizziness that threatened to overtake him. "Mother. Back room. Now."

"Aguamenti!" Madame Rosmerta was putting out a small fire near the end of the bar, as more Aurors swept in from the street.

"Pardon me," Narcissa said to the witch. "May we use your storeroom? Draco was injured in the scuffle and I'd like to take a quick look at his injury."

Madame Rosmerta lifted her nose and her wand simultaneously, turning to face the three Malfoys. She was not inclined to be forgiving, and had the word "no" on her lips when John Dawlish picked his way over.

"What's going on here?" he looked at the Malfoys and Rosmerta.

"We were just asking to use the storeroom briefly to see to Draco's injury," Lucius said. "He was hit by a slicing hex while defending the pub's occupants."

"Well, I don't suppose there is anything wrong with that, is there, Madame? He seems to be more than a bit peaky, and it would be a shame to get more blood on your floors." Dawlish gave Madame Rosmerta a look of expectation, and she huffed, but conceded.

"It's through the door, just there."

Dawlish nodded to the Malfoys, then preceded them into the room, wand drawn. Satisfied, he turned back and indicated they could close the door, Lucius helping Draco through. Lucius gave Dawlish a nod toward the door, and the Auror put a locking charm on the exit door to the back alley before leaving. "I expect to get your statements as soon as you're done."

"Of course," Lucius said, aware that Dawlish could only buy them a few minutes of privacy. "Steady," he warned Draco as he removed his cloak, revealing the freely bleeding gash along the top of Draco's wing, right near his shoulder. The skin was puckered from the pull of the muscles, trying to conceal his identity.

"Move it, please, Draco," Narcissa said softly, bringing her wand carefully along the gash and murmuring a healing spell.

 _Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!_ Draco mentally cursed, the hot pain of the wound being closed causing him to flex his wings reflexively, knocking over an ale barrel in the process. Lucius caught it with his wand, setting it aside as Narcissa continued seaming the wound back together.

"I don't think it will leave a permanent scar," she said, "but I expect it will feel tight and sting until it is fully healed—probably moreso if you have it, er, put away, dearest."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Draco muttered, earning a "Language!" from Lucius.

"Well it's not as if I can fucking announce it, can I?" he muttered, but his mother ignored him.

"Lucius, your leg."

"Leave it for now. I trust it will prove useful at cutting the interrogation short," Lucius said curtly, eyeing the door. "I don't doubt that I shall have need of my headache potion later."

"Fucking Veritaserum," Draco cursed, this time not hearing one word of reproach from his father. The headache that Veritaserum gave a Veela was potent. Given the Aurors' love of the potion to ferret out facts, there was little doubt that his father would have one hell of a migraine later. Draco cracked his neck as he folded his wings away, wordlessly accepting the cloak from his father and fastening it around his neck. It was bloody hot with it on, but he could hardly walk around with a shredded shirt.

"Mum, any chance you could repair my shirt?"

Hermione checked on Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Thankfully they were all fine, having been near the back of the pub, and in the coze at that. Neville reported that they couldn't see anything, nor do much good from where they were, "…although Harry and Ron rushed right in, despite the darkness powder. I don't know if they did much good, but at least they can report that to Kuponda. Doesn't look like he's too happy right now."

Hermione darted a glance at the irate Auror. "No, I don't suppose he is. I expect we'll all be questioned, but in the meantime I need to find out if there were any injuries to students."

She didn't have much luck making her way out of the pub. She was stopped by an unfamiliar Auror before she could leave.

"Sorry Miss Granger, no one is to leave or enter until we've had a chance to talk to all of you."

"But I'm the Head Girl this year. I need to make sure that no students have been injured." Hermione still wasn't used to everyone knowing who she was, and having complete strangers know her name was just another reminder of how upside down her life had been for the past few years.

"Professor Snape has been called from Hogwarts. I don't doubt that he and the professors will make sure that everyone is looked after. Get yourself a cup of tea," he nodded to the bar counter, where Rosmerta was dispensing tea or ale, as requested, "and I'm sure we'll be with you shortly. We don't want to keep anyone longer than necessary."

"Thanks." Hermione turned back, eyeing the occupants of the pub. She could go back to the coze, but it felt like a useless activity. Instead of being a part of the debrief, she was left wondering what Harry and Ron were discussing with the head Auror, who was looking very stern as he talked to the two trainees and other Aurors. Her gaze drifted and she realized…

"Where are the Malfoys?"

"What was that?" The Auror said, turning his attention back to her.

"Oh. It's just I don't see the Malfoys." She stopped talking, feeling an odd jolt of disquiet at the thought that Draco could be doing anything suspicious. The Auror had already moved off, making a beeline for Rosmerta. Having nothing better to do, Hermione followed him. She wanted to know where the Malfoys had disappeared to.

"…Dawlish is with them, so that's that as far as I'm concerned." Turning her attention to Hermione, Rosmerta barked, "Tea or ale, dear?"

"Tea please," Hermione answered, automatically saying thank you as the Auror disappeared down a hallway. She barely noticed that the tea was scalding hot, sipping it before quickly setting it down again, blowing on her stinging lips.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron said as he loped over. "Kuponda wants to speak with you."

"Fine." Setting the tea she didn't really want back on the bar, Hermione skirted the wizards and witches who were repairing some of the room's furnishings, noting that Professor Snape had arrived and was talking with the head Auror.

"Sir," Ron said, "This is Hermione."

Turning his dark gaze on her, the wizard arched a brow. "I am aware, Mr. Weasley. Leave."

"Yes sir." The Auror missed Ron's look before he went away, but it was clear to Hermione from a quick glance that Snape hadn't, the muffled "Impertinent," barely heard as Mfupa Kuponda began speaking.

"Now, Miss Granger, I would appreciate hearing about what happened here from your point of view. I understand you were closer to the door and away from your friends."

"That's right. I had just ordered another round of drinks, and I ran into Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Then Draco joined them, and I was about to take my leave when the door burst open and the lights went out."

The wizard's expression was neutral. "I see. And what happened then?"

"I'm not quite sure. It was very dark instantly, and I ducked when the first spell was thrown, tried to get out of the line of fire. I ran into someone, and I know now it was Draco Malfoy. He threw me to the floor and kept me down, out of the fire. I didn't know who it was at first, so I tried to get up, to help—but he kept pulling me down. He was hit by a slicing hex, he was bleeding. His mother was going to see to it."

"And?" The Auror pressed.

"I don't think I was hit…I don't remember feeling any pain, but it was a bit chaotic. I'm certainly not bleeding now, I feel fine…" she trailed off as she realized that both Kuponda and Snape were looking pointedly at her shoulder. She looked herself and realized there was a tear in her clothes, feeling it with her fingers for the first time.

"I see." Kuponda lifted his chin slightly, taking in the slight peek of flesh beneath the ripped fabric.

Hermione frowned. The wizard's tone was far too nuanced for her liking.

"Here are the Malfoys," Snape observed. "Miss Granger, you will be relieved to here that all other students are accounted for. Once the Aurors are… _satisfied_ , you will be escorted back to the school."

"Thank you, Professor."

The Malfoys were being escorted by Auror Dawlish. Hermione noticed that Draco was still wearing a cloak despite the warmth in the pub. Lucius was still limping, though, and she thought it strange that Narcissa hadn't helped her husband yet.

"Mfupa. How pleasant to see you again, despite the unpleasant circumstances."

Hermione gaped as Narcissa Malfoy placed air kisses on each cheek of the Angolan Auror.

"Cissy. I'm relieved that you are intact," Kuponda said solemnly, then nodded brusquely at Lucius. "Lucius."

"If this could be kept brief, I would appreciate it. I expect to be spending some time with my Healer," Lucius said, indicating his burned leg.

"Hmmm. We shall do our best, Lucius. Perhaps it would be best to speak to Draco first, so the students can be taken back to Hogwarts. I'm sure the local Healer would be happy to assist."

Lucius' expression was displeased, but there was little he could do about it. Kuponda had already turned his attention to Draco. "I understand you were singularly concerned with Miss Granger's well-being during the attack. Any particular reason for your solicitousness?"

"We're working together a lot this year," Draco said offhandedly.

"Did you recognize any of the attackers?"

Draco's tone remained flat. "It was pitch black. No, I didn't recognize anyone."

Placid, Kuponda turned his attention to the senior Malfoy. "What about you, Lucius? Recognize any of your old dueling companions?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't say with certainty. Perhaps Antonin, but it would be impossible to know for certain under the circumstances."

"I see. And you, Narcissa? Did you see anything of note?"

"If I had, I would certainly say so. As it was, I was quite preoccupied with defending myself and my family. I wasn't exactly studying the dueling patterns," she said crisply.

Kuponda eyed all of them carefully, hesitating before he spoke. "Let's get that leg seen to, Lucius. Then, if you'd be so good as to come down to the Ministry…"

"I'm happy to help in any manner," Lucius said politely, although it was quite obvious that he was nonplussed about it.

"Just so. Severus, I hadn't realized what an…interesting mix you have this year." Mfupa paused, then said abruptly, "Your students are released. I trust you'll inform me promptly if there are any further developments."

* * *

The return to the school was rather anticlimactic. Ginny was moping because she didn't get any time alone with Harry, Neville was sober and even Luna was quiet. Hermione and Draco trudged along behind Snape, and no one wanted to talk for fear of being snapped at by the Headmaster. Word of the attack had spread like wildfire through the school, and thus dinner was excruciating. Despite a stern warning from Snape at the beginning of the dinner service to not dwell on the day's events, that was all anyone wanted to talk about. The boring and peaceful mealtimes Hermione was remembering from her early years at Hogwarts were abruptly thrown back into the cacophony of theories, conjecture, and whispering that had plagued their last three years in school. She refused all requests for information, Neville and the rest doing the same with a stoic expression. She focused on her unfinished dinner, the pudding appearing in the middle of the table seeming utterly unappetizing. She stood to leave, and Ginny stood with her.

"Not coming to the common room, are you?" she asked wryly.

"No." Hermione just couldn't face it.

"I wish I had a place all to myself," Ginny said wistfully, and Hermione nodded and left.

Back in the Heads' quarters, she couldn't find distraction in any of her assignments either. Resigned, she picked up the tried and true method of reading _Hogwarts: A History_.

Draco was not far behind her in getting back to their shared quarters. He didn't say a word, merely picked up a book and sat down to read it at the end of the couch. Thirty minutes passed before Hermione couldn't take the silence any more.

"I suppose it was just as bad at your table. The younger students all gaping, whispering. Wanting to hear all the details, as if it were some novel instead of real life."

Draco looked at her over the top of his book, closing it. "Actually, the younger Slytherins don't pry too much. They know that being ignorant of the details is often preferable."

Hermione would have formerly retorted with something like, 'What a horrid blanket statement,' but she couldn't help but feel that there was some wisdom in the sentiment. Instead she blurted out, "Do you think it will ever end? Truly?"

Draco sat forward on the couch, setting his book on the coffee table before he met her eyes. "Eventually, yes. They will catch them or kill them. It will take some time, though."

She didn't want to hear that. Even knowing rationally it was true, she wanted things to be going back to how they were. It wasn't _fair_ that it wasn't over, just done and something they could all put behind them and forget about.

"I'm going to bed. Good night."

Draco watched her go, thoughtful.

* * *

Draco twitched his head violently, leaving an indentation in his pillow. His heart racing, he bolted upright in bed, his brain confused by the fog of sleep and the urgent inner voice yelling at him. _She's screaming!_ The noise was high, pitched—

"She's screaming."

He said it out loud, then bolted from his bed, realizing that Hermione was actually screaming, _now_. He grabbed his wand from under his pillow and rushed toward her room. She screamed again, and he attacked the wards on her room with a speed he rarely had when attempting to break spells. They crumbled under the onslaught, the threads of Veela magic weaving through and collapsing them with pinpoint accuracy. He rushed into her bedroom and saw her, trembling and screaming in her sleep.

"Hermione! Hermione!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, his wand still clasped in one hand. You never knew what you were going to deal with when waking someone from a nightmare.

She started violently, sitting up and grabbing his arms to wrestle with him before her eyes snapped open.

"Malfoy! Draco?" He could tell when she actually woke, the use of his last name planting a dreadful notion that he knew what she had been dreaming about.

"Hermione, it's me, Draco. You were screaming. It was just a dream. A nightmare." Draco repeated, not letting her go.

She swallowed, looking down at the sheets, then tracking back upward, taking in his sleep pants and lack of any other attire. She felt her cheeks heat, resorting to defensiveness. "How are you in my room?"

"I dismantled your wards when I heard you screaming. I didn't know if something was wrong."

She realized he was still holding his wand, clasped next to her arm. " _Lumos minimas._ Right. Sorry. I don't usually have nightmares much, not any more. I suppose today…"

"Yes. I understand." Looking at his eyes, she felt he _did_ understand, if from a different perspective.

"I suppose you have them too," she said, awkwardly aware of how close Draco was sitting to her. With no shirt on, and his hair tousled, just awake, he was like any other boy. _Any other **attractive** boy_ , her subsconscious unhelpfully interjected.

"Yeah. I do." He paused, and Hermione thought maybe he would leave now, breaking the weird tension. Instead, he added, "Do you want to talk about it? I'm told it helps."

"Umm," she began, and Draco could tell she was going to change the subject. Now he _knew_ that she had been dreaming about her torture at the Manor. "Was it about the Manor?"

Her eyes flashed to his, surprise and astonishment visible. "Why do you say that?"

"You called me Malfoy at first. You haven't called me that in a while. And you were trying to wrestle with me as you came fully awake. I'm right, aren't I?"

His gaze was too perceptive, so Hermione shifted hers. "I'm not sure that's a good thing for us to talk about, Draco. We were…on different sides."

Draco shook his head to disagree. "It's the perfect time to talk about it, because it's clearly still bothering you. Besides, you don't know the whole story of what happened that day. I think it's past time you did."

That got her attention. "What are you talking about?" she asked, and he finally let his hands fall off her shoulders.

"I took something from you that day. I think you should have it back. Will you let me get it?"

Puzzled, she nodded. It didn't take him more than a minute, and when he returned he was carrying a crystal vial, its contents swirling in an iridescent haze.

"Is that a…?" she began, stopping as Draco sat back down on her bed.

Draco cleared his throat as he did so, breaking eye contact briefly. "This is a memory of yours. I've kept it safe for you. It…it wasn't safe for you to keep it."

Hermione watched him hold out his hand. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her fingers reaching out to take the vial, touching his.

"This is important, isn't it?" she asked, taking in the range of emotions passing through Draco's eyes, his heart that she could practically feel beating alongside her own.

"I promised myself that when it was time, I would share it with you, as I wish it could have been shared then."

"All right," Hermione whispered, taking the strand of memory from the vial with her wand. It hadn't escaped her notice that he was trusting her not to hex him. Before she touched it to her temple, Hermione clasped his free hand. She somehow needed the contact.

Draco's heart swelled at the delight of her voluntarily touching him. She held the thread to her temple and he watched it seep into her head, her eyes closing as she relived the true memory of that awful afternoon, things that had never quite made sense suddenly leaping into focus.

She was on the floor, Bellatrix LeStrange whispering awful things into her ear as she cut her with a cursed knife. She could feel her flesh burning with the dark magic, the callous laughter of the crazy witch as she told her how she would die ringing in her ears. Hermione could no longer feel the tears sliding down her face, the horrible sensations of physical and magical pain nearly overcoming her resolve to not scream again, to NOT give her that pleasure.

Suddenly, Bellatrix was a dead weight on her, the crazy, unclean and unkempt hair in her mouth and eyes, eyes that she couldn't even shut due to the petrification curse. Then, the weight was gone, and she saw Draco Malfoy crouched above her. His head was turned away, he was talking to someone, yelling at them, and she studied the curve of his jaw up close, the scent of his cologne and sweat filtering through her groggy brain.

He was so angry. So panicked! She heard his father's footsteps receding, realized he'd hauled her to a sitting position.

"Draco? Why did you do that?"

She mouthed the words again as she relived the memory, realizing again that this was in the past. She snapped her attention from the memory, how she wrestled him because he suggested it, had broken his nose. When her eyes reopened, they were shimmering from the tears that had gathered, the ugliness of the event now tempered with Draco's impassioned action.

"Why?" she asked, the awful feelings of that day clawing at her again. She had to force the question out, was proud of herself for getting it out despite feeling like she couldn't breathe.

He could tell that had shaken her, and she shook her head slowly once, then pinned him with her piercing gaze, taking her hands in his. "I had to stop her, Hermione. I couldn't bear to see you being cursed."

She had to meet his gaze at that, found only sincerity and a depth of caring that she was completely unprepared for. It was too much to take in, so she focused on the facts, reciting them calmly even as her palms started to sweat.

"I can't remember exactly why I let you take that memory. I only know that I let you, and we escaped."

"Can you imagine what would have happened to me and my family if you had been recaptured with that memory intact? I had to get it from you, Hermione."

"So you Imperiused me? What did you do to me?" Hermione said, pulling her hands from his.

"What about the fact that I saved your lives?" Draco retorted. "All of you would have died and the entire world would have been enslaved to Voldemort's wand if I hadn't acted!"

Hermione couldn't deny the truth of that, but she didn't understand how she gave him her memory voluntarily. He _must_ have placed her under the Imperius curse, just to protect himself and his family. She was unprepared to deal with that dichotomy, so she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly realizing the impropriety of him being in her room.

"Thank you. For saving us, and for waking me. I…appreciate you doing that."

Draco ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "Fucking hell, Hermione, is that all you have to say? I can't tell you how I did it, okay? It's not the right time for that, not yet."

"What the hell does THAT mean?" Hermione replied angrily. "I'm not interested in your multilayered Slytherin games, Draco! I said thank you, and I meant it. Now please leave my room. I'd like to try to get some sleep, and you shouldn't be here."

He WANTED to tell her, so badly, "I did it because you're my mate and I love you more than life!" but he didn't. It would not go over well for her to hear that it was a different magical compulsion he'd used, oh and this one involved marrying him and having sex as soon as possible. Instead he flung out, "Perhaps before you read the tea leaves and get a Grim, you could talk to the other person who was there: my father. I know he'd be more than willing to explain what happened to you. You have only to _ask_ , if you dare. Good night!"

"Good night!" Hermione shouted to his bare back as he left the room. He really was quite cut, with impressive, muscular bulges even on his back visible in the dim light. And this thought made her madder, mumbling "Git!" to herself.


	10. Contact

**Good evening dear readers! It has taken longer than I expected, mostly due to computer issues and some vacation time. I'm not sure I wouldn't like a bit more tweaking for it, but I feel I've kept you waiting for this long enough. A few reviewers noted the martial arts training for a wizard as incongruous. All I will say is, there is a reason, but you'll have to be patient and wait for it to be revealed in due course! That having been said, I'm delighted with developments in this chapter, as I hope you all will be. Please leave a review and let me know how you feel about it! Thank you all. :)**

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I hope you and Ron are still surviving Auror training. I don't suppose there has been any progress in identifying the attackers? People here are still a bit unsettled, and Hagrid says that Hogsmeade is quieter than normal. As our next trip to Hogsmeade won't be for a few weeks, I can only speak to Hogwarts. I can't say I feel settled after that, and after a conversation with Draco I learned that we have him to thank for escaping from Malfoy Manor. Long story short, he had a memory of mine, and gave it back to me finally…and he was the one who stopped Bellatrix._

 _I don't know why he did it, he only said he couldn't bear to see me being cursed. So, we all owe him a debt of gratitude for saving our lives. Of course,_ _ **how**_ _he did it was sneaky and manipulative and, just, reprehensible, but he DID it, and—″_ here Hermione paused in writing her letter, her conscience nagging her to be honest, "— _I could have been more gracious about it. Just when I think I'm beginning to understand him, and maybe even LIKE the plonker a bit, he does something to remind me what a nasty git he can be. Ugh._

 _Anyway, enough of the blonde menace. Ginny was a bit sad after Hogsmeade, and I think Neville is still a bit too concerned with keeping a watchful eye out. He's almost Moody-esque. Maybe he should have gone to Auror training with you!_

 _I've still not received any letters from my parents. I don't know if it's because they aren't receiving them, or they just aren't answering. I'm going to try the Muggle post, and if that doesn't work I'll have to call at Christmas. One day at a time. I keep telling myself they can't stay angry forever._

 _Oops, almost patrol time. Write back soon please, I want to hear all your news._

 _Xoxo,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _There isn't much to report about the attacks. The best theory going is that it was directed at the Malfoys, Lucius specifically, but Kuponda is keeping the information tightly locked down so all I'm hearing are rumors, mostly. Antonin Dolohov, Calvin Yaxley, and other Snatchers and werewolves are still unaccounted for. It's tedious trying to root out their hiding places and allies. Sorry. I wish I had better news. They are letting us out to help with some of the minor raids, probably because besides being good training they know for sure that we were never compromised._

 _As for the Malfoys—Kingsley knows a lot more about the circumstances, and the only thing he would say when I asked about them was, "Still waters run deep." I do know that Alvatore Beramine had no qualms in appointing Lucius Malfoy to the Death Eater subcommittee of the Wizengamot. I think he's back on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and whatever else it was he did before the war._

 _I'm glad to know more of what really happened at Malfoy Manor. At least we know Draco has a conscience somewhere. I doubt he'll ever be a mate of mine, but I suppose the next time I see him I'll thank him all the same. That makes me feel a lot better about you essentially being his roommate, to be honest. Neville has written me a couple of letters about that, and I think he's wound Ron up a bit too."_

Here a big ink blot splotched the parchment, which told Hermione that Harry had paused to think before continuing,

" _I get the impression that something out of the ordinary is going on with Malfoy—Draco, that is. It just feels like he's getting special accommodations with no reasonable explanation. I trust Snape, and McGonagall, but I wonder if they wouldn't tell you more about what's really going on because you're working so much with him. It seems reasonable to ask them, anyway._

 _I hope you hear from your parents soon. Perhaps you could ask Snape for permission to go to London the next time one of the professors is making the trip for special supplies. They definitely won't stay mad forever. I'm sure it must be hard to accept that a war was going on without their knowledge, and that you were so involved in fighting in it. They're hurt because they think you didn't trust them. In time I'm sure they will come 'round._

 _Time for more disapparition practice. We have to get below a certain noise level in order to pass. Ron says hello, by the way. He hates it after being splinched. Take care of yourself, Hermione!_

 _Love,_

 _Harry_

* * *

"Are you ready?" Gideon asked as they pushed their way through the crowd of looky-loos that had assembled for today's meeting of the Dueling Club.

"Are Slytherins cunning?" Draco replied, whipping his wand out of his sleeve as he glanced around the room. There was no sign of Hermione yet, but he was sure she would be there.

"He's going to teach that piece of blood traitor filth a lesson," William said a bit too loudly, causing a group of Ravenclaws to look over at them with disgust. For that reason, Draco spoke louder when he replied, certain that Macmillan and his friends would also overhear his remarks.

"What I am going to do is to teach a disrespectful, disgusting liar the price for overselling both his abilities and his loyalties." Draco had the satisfaction of meeting Ernie's furious gaze as he finished speaking, thereby drawing the first blood. "It's a pity that he hasn't a tenth of the intestinal fortitude of his cousin."

"You'll pay for that, Malfoy!" Ernie said, shoving through the few students between them, his wand clenched tightly in his fist.

"We'll see," Draco said indifferently, checking his cuff as Madame Hooch strode onto the dueling platform and called the meeting to order. He scanned the room again, and saw that Hermione had arrived in the company of the Lovegood girl and Ginevra Potter.

"Today we have duels scheduled between Prasanna Patil and Theodophilus Verdigris, Neville Longbottom and Sheila Babbidge, and Ernie Macmillan and Draco Malfoy. The duels will proceed in that order. Please keep the path to the fireplace clear in case of medical need. Duellists, you are reminded of your pledge to adhere to the International Dueling Federation's standard rules. Violations of those rules will result in your suspension from the club. Prasanna, Theodophilus, please take your places!"

As they watched Prasanna trade hexes with Theodophilus, Ginny and Luna asked Hermione what she thought would happen when Ernie and Draco dueled.

"I honestly don't know. Since that skirmish in the hallway I don't know if they have had any other run-ins, but Draco would hardly tell me if he had after I took points from both of them." Hermione crossed her arms across her chest as Prasanna landed a good hit, causing everyone to applaud briefly.

"True, but he's not exactly the type to avoid confrontation," Ginny observed, putting one hand on her hip as Madame Hooch helped Theo back to his feet. "And despite his occasional lapses of conscience, he's still an amazingly bad tempered git."

"He must have had quite a strong motive to risk incapacitating Bellatrix," Luna said in her sing-song voice, her gaze drifting toward the Slytherin in question. "I am very grateful to him. I sent him a long letter thanking him for doing it. I don't think he would have wanted to hear it from me in person. He's rather a lonely soul this year, isn't he?"

Ginny and Hermione both looked at Luna, one with a skeptical expression and the other, thoughtful.

"Anyhow, he's got a lot to do this year. Between his personal life and the Ministry's push to capture renegade Death Eaters, it's a wonder he's not more perverse."

"Right," Ginny said, changing the subject. "Oh look, Neville is using his mother's wand this time. Apparently his magic still hasn't settled enough for Ollivander to match him to a new wand."

"Huh," Hermione commented, but her attention kept being drawn to Draco, standing stiff and proud at the other side of the room. He had the two Slytherin prefects with him, but no one else. Ernie looked angry, just tapping his wand impatiently against his leg while his friends muttered to him under their breaths. In contrast, Draco looked like an oasis of calm, but Hermione could tell that he was wound up a bit, too.

Neville took a stinging hex from Sheila, but he landed a petrifying curse on her in exchange, and the second duel was suddenly over. Madame Hooch was preoccupied with sending a calming spell over Neville, so she missed how Ernie got right up in Draco's face as he marched toward the platform, but Hermione didn't. She frowned.

"Right! Onto the last duel of the day: Ernest Macmillan and Draco Malfoy. Gentlemen, a reminder to observe the standard rules, thank you. Good luck!"

Draco cracked his neck as Madame Hooch gave her speech, the familiar ice cold flooding his veins as he prepared to duel. He quietly cast a limited Muffliato. No need for everyone to hear what he planned to say to Macmillan.

"En garde!"

Macmillan fired first, as could be predicted. Draco blocked it and waited. Ernie's blood was running hot, and he just needed to egg him on and wait for the mistakes.

"Someone really should let your family know it's not de rigueur to have tattoos, Malfoy," Ernie taunted as he parried Draco's first spell.

"I wasn't aware the Macmillans were such trendsetters, Ernest. Perhaps since pretending to be something you're not came into fashion, as it's clearly your family's specialty," Draco retorted, parrying and casting again with a little underhanded flip his father had taught him. Macmillan yelped as the sting set just above his wrist, jumping slightly.

"Better than a bunch of Death Eater scum!"

"I can't hear exactly what they're saying. One of them cast a Muffliato!" Hermione moved away from Ginny and Luna to get closer to the platform, aware that Madame Hooch must have deduced the same thing from the frown on her face.

This time Macmillan sent a curse his way. Draco smirked slightly, satisfied that he had finally provoked the worm into showing his true colors. "What's the matter, Ernest? Two years ago you were jealous that your father never publicly committed to the value he espoused in private."

Dodging a hex, Draco landed a jinx, stealing a second to glance at Hermione, who was now closer to the platform. She was biting her lip, arms crossed firmly over her chest. It proved to be a mistake, as Macmillan took the opportunity hit him hard with a spinning hex, causing him to nearly fall.

"Daddy's money can't buy you out of everything, Malfoy! You'll always be a loser. For the rest of your _life,_ everyone will know it every time they look at you and that Mark."

 _Right_ , Draco thought, gritting his teeth as the sting of a slicing hex grazed his upper arm as he pulled himself out of the spin. _Enough play time_. He didn't even register Madame Hooch's cry of foul, he simply went purely on the offensive. He threw up a blocking shield to delay the professor's interference, certain that she was breaking the Muffliato, then landed three slicing hexes in quick succession, getting closer to Macmillan every time.

"You are a _coward_ and a _liar_ , and when I'm done with you, everyone will know it." Draco didn't even care if those closest to the platform heard him.

Ernie was throwing curses despite Madame Hooch bearing down on them. Draco was too aware of the consequences to not press the advantage. Hooch had broken the block, so Draco hit him with a final, wordless _Petrificus Totalus_ , causing Macmillan to fall backward on the platform. Privately Draco was sorry the bastard hadn't fallen face first, then he might have broken his nose.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Macmillan! This duel is OVER!"

Draco leaned down to whisper in Macmillan's ear, "If you had a tenth of the resolve of a Malfoy, you wouldn't be here. You didn't even have the resolve of your _cousin_ ," before straightening up and releasing the petrification charm as Madame Hooch came alongside them both. Draco held his hand out to Macmillan in a public gesture of magnamity that he was far from feeling. It worked, though, as Hooch focused her attention wholly on Macmillan, who scorned Draco's hand, getting to his feet by himself. Draco was pleased to note that he was bleeding in three places, one quite deep, while Draco himself had only the one scratch.

"Mr. Macmillan, by casting the first slicing hex you have broken the rules of the Dueling Club. I am suspending your membership pending formal appeal to the Headmaster. Mr. Malfoy, your membership is likewise in question pending review by the Headmaster." Madame Hooch was stern.

"I defended myself per section VIII of the rules, Professor: permissions when an opponent has engaged in a dangerous attack."

"Hmmmmmmmm," Madame Hooch was taking her wand to both of them, performing brief diagnostic charms. "We'll see about that, Mr. Malfoy. In the meantime, you will both accompany me to the Infirmary so Madame Pomfrey can patch you up. Shake hands, please."

Madame Hooch paused for them to exchange the most perfunctory of handshakes. Draco's eyes wandered to find Hermione. She was giving him a disappointed look, which just made him angry. _What the hell does she expect me to do, take all the shit that assholes want to dish out? How much punishment is enough, for the love of Merlin?_

* * *

"Malfoy looked very angry," Neville commented as they all left Dueling Club, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't think that bodes well for all the skirmishes going on in the corridors."

"It's hardly surprising, is it? It's not like anyone has forgotten what happened in the spring. I'm surprised there isn't more of it going on at night, honestly. We haven't found much of that in our patrols," Ginny said, referring to her patrols with Herbert Longshanks of Ravenclaw.

"I believe that some are settling their differences in the Forbidden Forest," Luna said. "At least, that's what the trails of leaves and mud would seem to suggest. Mr. Filch is complaining about it to anyone who will listen."

Hermione was rather glum. Apart from the continuing problem of students getting into duels and fights in the halls after classes, she was disturbed by the duel between Draco and Ernie. After encountering them previously fighting, she was convinced there was more to the matter than general resentments from the war. Unfortunately, she couldn't talk about her suspicions with Ginny, and certainly not with Neville. He would follow the rabbit trails right into conspiracy theories and cover ups.

"Are you coming to the common room before dinner, Hermione?" Neville asked.

"Um, no, no thanks. I have some things to do. I'll see you later." She could go to the Gryffindor common room, but it would probably be all Quidditch related, given the upcoming match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Frankly, that was one of the benefits of Harry and Ron not being here.

"Okay Hermione!" Ginny called, returning to the conversation she was having with Neville about Gryffindor's Quidditch team this year as they headed off toward Gryffindor Tower.

"I thought that last duel was pretty personal," Luna said, causing Hermione to turn toward her. She was surprised to find that Luna was studying her, almost like an interesting specimen, and it made Hermione's brow furrow slightly as she replied.

"Yes, I was thinking the same thing."

"I think there is a history between the Macmillans and Malfoys. At least, I seem to remember one. Maybe that's what it was about," Luna commented airly, then changed tack abruptly. "I noticed that you seem to be getting along exceptionally well with Draco this year. That's excellent."

"Why so?" Her confusion was probably evident on her face, but Luna didn't notice. She continued as if Hermione hadn't even started to talk.

"You're just what that family needs to move past the last three decades. Do try to work on his temper…oh look! The rain is letting up. I must go check on the Amanita mushrooms behind Greenhouse 5. See you later, Hermione."

"Luna! What did you mean about the Malfoys?" Hermione called after her, but it was no use. Luna had bounded around the corner and when she rounded it Luna was already gone. "Ugh."

Hermione actually didn't have much to do, other than finish revising her essay for Snape's seminar. It wasn't due for two days, though, and she had planned to work on it with her other homework after dinner. She was close to the infirmary tower now…she wondered, would that be appropriate? Wise? Pieces of Harry's letter swam through her head, along with Draco's whispered threat (promise?) to Ernie at the end of the duel. No, it wouldn't be appropriate. She'd just go back to her own common room.

* * *

 _Thwack!_

"Dangerous line."

 _Bang!_

"Swallow your pride!"

Draco hit the golem again, crouching and rolling to dodge its counterattack, then lashing out to knock it over again. The conversation he'd just had with Snape was just the tip of the iceberg…

 _"Regardless of the provocation, it would have been better had you restrained your temper and merely immobilized the Macmillan boy from the start. I've already gotten owls from his parents and his uncle, who, need I remind you, sits on the Wizengamot subcommittee for Death Eater investigations. Your father will have his hands full managing this petty feud, on top of Kuponda's certainty that he was the target of that business in Hogsmeade. Which, I might add, makes YOU a prime target as well, as a means of getting at him."_

 _"I know!" Draco exploded. "I know that! Don't you think I'm spending all my waking hours worrying about what happens when Hermione knows? What kind of a target that makes her? Salazar, it's driving me insane—so don't expect me to play nice when deceitful fence sitters like Ernie Macmillan egg me on. You and I both know his cousin died because he was a damn two-faced liar, and he was caught!"_

 _Snape's voice hardened. "You will have bigger problems if someone deduces your interest before you disclose it to her. GET ON WITH IT. I'm not the only one thinking that Ministry interference would simplify matters."_

"Fuck!" He hit the golem hard again, the sting in his hand welcome. He was annoyed with the state of everything. Who the hell were they to try to tell him how to court his mate? Fuck them all! His wings itched, and he wished he could do the full range, but the ceilings were too low and it was too dangerous. It wasn't like the Room of Requirement, where entrance conditions could be rigorously prescribed.

He missed on the next run and got a good clip on his jaw from the golem.

"Salazar's balls!" he swore, tossing it aside in a fit of anger.

"Draco?"

He turned, rubbing the sore spot briefly as his heart made a crazy zigzag at the sound of Hermione's voice. She was standing in the partially opened door, and almost fell to his knees with the feelings of relief and happiness that she came here, seeking him out.

"Can I come in?" Hermione asked. It was pretty clear from what he'd been doing that Draco was angry, and she wasn't sure he would appreciate her being here.

"Yes, please," Draco said. _Idiot. Why didn't you say 'of course' or 'any time'?_ Draco looked briefly at the floor, then realized he was probably a mess. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead, and tried to smooth his hair back. As a consequence he was more brusque than he intended to be when he met her eyes again. _"_ What do you want, Hermione?"

Hermione had edged into the room, the door's edge still held in one hand. She wasn't sure if Draco's bad mood was contagious, but she felt less certain that this was a good idea. As such, it seemed prudent to remain close to the exit.

"I wanted to see how you were doing—after the duel, and whatever came of speaking to Snape." She hesitated, then continued, keeping eye contact, "It seemed very personal, that duel…and I wondered if there wasn't…more behind it than you've let on."

He simply stared at her across the space, a myriad of thoughts tumbling through his head. She looked so sincere, no hidden motives, just a genuine concern for _him_. _So this is what this feels like_. Draco suddenly felt like he could conquer the world, all its petty problems insubstantial as long as Hermione actually cared about him.

"So you want to know how I am?" Draco asked, crossing the room with long strides until he was right in front of Hermione. "Why?"

Hermione noticed again how Draco had several inches on her in height. He was standing quite close, and she noticed that he was a bit sweaty. He had discarded his sweater and his tie, and his shirtsleeves were slightly rolled up. She realized she was staring, and looked back up at his face. He didn't seem angry, more curious and something else she couldn't decipher.

"I've noticed you don't have very many friends this year, and you spend a lot of time by yourself. And, well, we've been getting along, better than I expected…and I thought you might want to talk about it. Like you did for me with my nightmare. That's all."

"Such a Gryffindor," Draco said, but he said it with a small smile on his face. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ear, letting his fingers brush her cheek as he slowly drew them back. And he would have stopped touching her, if not for her reaction. He halted, his fingers still on her cheek, assessing. "Hermione?"

Hermione's heart sped up as soon as Draco's fingers made contact with her skin, causing her to involuntarily gasp. Her mouth fell open slightly when his fingers lingered, and she looked down to break the tension. She felt such a rush of heat, making her feel overwhelmed and safe at the same time. She looked back up at Draco at his question. Her brain intended to ask him what was going on, but instead she turned her head just slightly, seeking more contact with his hand.

That settled it. Draco slid his hand down and tilted her head, and then he kissed her. Rationally, Hermione knew it was coming, but it was as if she was frozen in time, waiting for it, as Draco's head descended.

It was like being pulled into a firework. His lips moved carefully over hers, settling in as the first burst sped along their nerves, setting spark to the next firewheel. Hermione couldn't think properly, pleasure blooming as his lips coaxed hers to reciprocate. She was kissing him back before her brain caught up, grabbing his hand on her jaw, the other grasping the front of his shirt. He broke the kiss slightly, his lips moving back a miniscule amount for a brief moment, eyelids lifting momentarily so they exchanged a look, for a split second. Then he kissed her again.

This time Hermione was prepared for it, chasing his mouth with her own when he moved, settling his hand at her waist and sliding his other hand down to her neck. They were less tentative now, lips moving more freely, exploring different approaches, the different feel of a plump bottom lip. He nipped at hers, and her knees almost gave out. He seemed to know it, too, angling her against the door to better support her. She felt reckless, and crazy, and almost high from the pleasure of kissing Draco Malfoy… _Draco Malfoy!_ Her rational mind belatedly asserted itself, and she began pulling back from the kissing, gently to not hurt his feelings. Draco could tell the memorable snogfest was coming to an end, and he gentled the kiss along with her, finally ending it with the same sort of soft buss with which he had begun.

"All right?" he asked huskily, keeping close to her face, enjoying the soft whisper of her breath.

Hermione was still struggling with conscious, rational thought. "Yes…yes. I—didn't expect—″

"No, why would you," he murmured, moving his hand slightly to embrace her briefly. "I won't apologize for it, though."

Hermione blinked against his chest, flattening her hand instinctively instead of letting go of him. It felt nice, comforting, while her brain whirled. What he said…it meant he'd been thinking about this for a while. He'd wanted to kiss her for a while! It made some sort of sense of it all, she supposed, but it didn't explain why she had wanted to kiss him back. It was…terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. Distance seemed the safest option until she could sort out her reaction to him.

"Excuse me," she said quietly, stepping back. He let her, his arms falling from around her even as her traitorous body mourned the loss of his solid chest and warmth. Now she felt awkward, and wrapped her arms around herself to cover it. "I suppose Snape chewed you out, at the very least."

She only glanced at him, making a show of studying the room's contents. Draco recognized it for the defense mechanism that it was, and decided to let her have her recalibration time. "He tore a strip out of my hide, and threatened me with stripping me of my Head status again, but that was about it for the duel. It was pretty obvious that Macmillan fired first, and after that all rules were out the window."

She shivered reflexively, then moved to take a closer look at a golem. She wasn't going to run off screaming because she'd snogged him, for goodness' sake. "So what exactly is your problem with Ernie Macmillan then? And don't try to tell me there isn't more going on than some petty taunts, because I won't believe it."

Draco put a hand in his pocket, a casual stance that belied the tension that crept into his face. "The Macmillans have made fence sitting into an art form. They would tell all the purebloods how committed they were to purity and keeping Muggle influences out of wizarding culture, and then they turned around and behind a different set of closed doors they said the exact opposite thing to those supportive of Muggle-borns and Muggle influences in general."

This was news to Hermione, and she said so. "I haven't ever heard Ernie say anything derogatory about Muggleborns, nor about Muggle culture."

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "He was only the boy who started the rumor that Potter was the heir of Slytherin, and then accused him of cheating to get his name into the Cup for the Triwizard Tournament. And while you were on the run last year, he told the Carrows that you were sleeping with Harry, and that's why he had taken you along. At every turn he was ready to believe the worst of you and Harry."

Hermione blanched a bit. She hadn't known that, but then again, there was a lot of nasty stuff that had gone on while the Carrows were in residence. She had never asked Neville or Ginny or anyone else exactly what had happened, but if they were anything like Umbridge (and probably worse), she could see how someone would be tempted to make up anything to get them off their back.

"What about his cousin? He's obviously still upset about his cousin's death, and no one I know seems to know anything about it."

Draco's expression went dark. "His cousin was stupid enough to publicly pledge his loyalty to the cause. Unfortunately for him, it was made known that he was talking out of the other side of his mouth to Rufus Scrimgeour during a secret meeting in London. Unfortunately for him, there was a tail on Scrimgeour, and word got back to Voldemort. Needless to say, that was the end of Macmillan's cousin, and not in a pleasant manner either. Once word got back to them about that, the whole family was wholeheartedly committed to the Order. They knew it was either that or be hunted down one by one for interrogation by the Dark Lord. So you'll pardon me for not having the highest respect for their 'integrity'."

Hermione put her hands down at her sides, then shoved them into her pockets for lack of a better thing to do with them. "I can see how that would annoy you. But it doesn't explain why you feel so strongly about teaching him a lesson. I heard you, Draco. I heard what you said to him at the end of the duel. That's more than disgust."

Her stare was challenging, and Draco was equally insistent that she understand his point of view. "Don't you understand why I have to hate him? He played a game, and he lied to you all. He just got lucky that his side was the winner. It hasn't changed what he thinks of your blood or the way the wizarding world is going. He's still a liar, and he's being rewarded for it. At least I am still honest about what I believe. I admitted where I was wrong, and I've paid the price for it. I continue to pay the price! It's a bit too much for me to stomach seeing him cling to fake principles and at the same time try to punish me for my honestly held ones."

"So you're saying you still think Muggleborns don't belong? That the Muggle world is a bad influence on wizarding culture?" Her arms were back around her body, a bad sign. Draco shook his head in frustration.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all, Hermione! Of course I don't feel that way about Muggleborns anymore, but I do still have real concerns about Muggle influences on the wizarding world. It's just common sense."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he'd screwed up. Her chin shot up, and her arms dropped, hands fisted at her sides.

"I see. Excuse me. As you're obviously fine with your opinions and your person, I have better things to do."

She darted out the door, and Draco mentally kicked himself even as he rushed after her.

"Hermione! Wait!"

She was already gone.

"Fuckity fuck fuck." How was he going to fix this?


	11. From Lucius, With Love

**I've been working on this for ages! Big chunks, and then I rearranged some things and found it useful to rework part of it. I had hoped to get this done last weekend but it was not to be: first colds hit my house! But here we are now. I am hoping to get some review replies out after I post. A big THANK YOU to all who reviewed the last chapter! I am glad you enjoyed it. Please do take a minute to let me know what you think: does Draco dig himself out of the hole he dug? Enjoy!**

* * *

Draco was so mad at himself. He went straight to their shared quarters, but of course she wasn't there.

"Damn it!"

Frustrated, he swept all the parchment from his desk to the floor. He could _feel_ her hurt, a silent push from his instincts to claim his mate now that he'd had a taste of her blood. It had been a risk, healing her like that in Hogsmeade, and now in one day he felt both the bitter and the sweet sides of that.

He threw his head back, shouting "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" at the top of his lungs. He was loud enough that he could hear the portrait at the entrance to their room complaining. He took several lungfuls of air. The scent of Hermione was everywhere.

"Stupid, fucking stupid, idiotic, moron!" he cursed at himself as he stalked from their common room again. There was only one way left to work through this until he could find her and explain. He took the shortest route possible, heading straight for the Forbidden Forest. To hell with the rain: he needed to fly.

* * *

Hermione angrily wiped the tears away from her eyes. "I should have known better," she muttered to herself, taking deep breaths of the chilly air, walking quickly so no one would approach her. She realized she was heading for the Forbidden Forest, but didn't want to go there, so she changed direction and headed for the greenhouses. She wandered through one of the open greenhouses, idly noting species and thinking back to when she'd learned about them in Herbology classes.

The thing is, she should have known that he couldn't have changed that much. Leopards didn't change their spots. Just because he was being polite didn't make him a different person, or erase years of ingrained prejudice and bias. What _really_ bothered her was the fact that she had so easily accepted his changed behavior as evidence of a less contemptible personality. Whatever had happened to him, it didn't mean he had changed his fundamental beliefs. He'd just told her so himself. He viewed Muggle culture as a danger to the wizarding world. And what on earth could she possibly have in common with a boy who believed that?

"Nothing." Her voice sounded flat, hollow. She looked up and realized she was at the end of the path in the greenhouse. Deciding she needed more fresh air despite the fact that she wasn't wearing a jacket, she opened the door and exited. She was about to head off again for a brisk walk toward the lake when she nearly ran into Luna as she came around the corner.

"Hermione, I didn't expect to see you here! Come, see the Amanitas. They are almost ready to shed their veils."

Hermione tried to muster a small smile along with her assent of "Sure," but she failed miserably. Luna said nothing, merely stole a sideways glance and then pointed to the red and white caps sprouting from beside the compost pile.

"There they are. I'm not sure if Professor Sprout is trying to grow them, or if they are volunteers. Either way, they are lovely, aren't they?"

Hermione crouched down to look at them. She had gotten overly familiar with mushrooms during the past year, but she had always been cautious about fly agaric. They were edible if cooked, but there were too many possibilities for error.

However, she was not surprised when Luna said, "My father loves eating them. I think he doesn't detoxify them on purpose. He says it helps clear out the nargles." She paused, then looked at Hermione. "Do you think Professor Sprout is planning to use these? If not, I'd like to send them to my father. He'd certainly enjoy them."

"I suppose you should ask her, then," Hermione said, standing again at the same time as Luna. Luna just looked at her, making Hermione feel vaguely irritated and affectionate toward her airy friend at the same time. You had to have a great deal of patience to be friends with Luna Lovegood.

"Did he kiss you?"

Hermione stared at Luna, an incredulous expression on her face. "What? Who are you talking about?"

Luna was unfazed by Hermione's defensive response, her perceptive gaze taking in the blush that stole across Hermione's cheeks at the question. "Draco, of course. I assume you spoke with him, which is why you're upset. He's very good at getting under your skin, but then, I suppose that's a necessary requirement. Otherwise you two wouldn't work so well together as you do."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Luna, why would you think that Draco had _kissed_ me? And what do you mean, we work well together? He's an ex-Death Eater and the epitome of spoiled, wealthy wizarding privilege." Hermione paused and Luna looked to be about to say something, but Hermione shook her head, continuing, "And, lest we forget, he _hates_ all things Muggle. We have about as much in common as a manticore and a hippogriff."

Luna tilted her head, then shook it in disagreement. "I suppose that _may_ be true, but there is the fact that he saved all of our lives, and you specifically, when he could have made his family safe by keeping quiet—or, worse, identifying Harry. So he can't hate _all_ things Muggle."

Hermione let out a painful laugh. "I think that was merely a grain of basic human decency. I'm sure they'll manage to breed that out eventually."

"Hmmm." Luna skipped along, ignoring the misty rain that was beginning to fall again, her voice pensive. "The Muggle world would seem scary to someone who grew up in the magical world, wouldn't it? Especially if you've been taught your whole life that it's dangerous."

"But you're not afraid of Muggle things, or Neville, or the Weasleys," Hermione argued. "There are plenty of wizarding families who aren't afraid. Why should Draco get a pass?"

Luna stopped and gave Hermione one of her blank, inquisitive stares. "I suppose the question you have to answer is, could you give him one?"

Hermione had no response, and clearly Luna didn't expect one. With a small smile, Luna skipped off. Sighing, Hermione turned to watch the setting sun. It was just past the gloaming, the light soft despite the misty rain. There was a vague sense of wrongness to the spat with Draco, and she couldn't put her finger on why she felt that way. Lost in thought, it took a few seconds for her to spot something in the sky above the Forbidden Forest. She held one hand up to block the light a bit in a vain attempt to get a better look at whatever it was. It was close to the treetops, swooping and turning…but what was it? A Hippogriff? She couldn't see very clearly, but it seemed put together wrong for such a creature. The rain started coming down harder, and whatever it was vanished from view. Belatedly casting an Impervious charm, Hermione decided her time outdoors was at an end. A good cup of tea in the Gryffindor common room would cheer her up, even if all they did talk about was Quidditch.

The common room was a mass of sound and chaos as usual. Sure enough, Ginny was talking with Neville and a couple of the Gryffindor team members about Quidditch.

"Hey," Hermione said, slipping into a chair as it was vacated by Quentin Bridgerton and accepting the bottle of Butterbeer that Ginny wordlessly offered.

"Hi Hermione," Neville said, then returned to commenting on the merits of some kind of defense that was new.

"I didn't know you were quite so up on Quidditch strategies, Neville," Hermione offered at the next break in Quidditch talk.

"Oh yeah. Well, Gran insisted on watching reels and reels of old matches this summer. I think it was her way of thinking about anything other than the war, and I guess I picked up a few things. It is very interesting from a strategic point of view."

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, taking a swig from the bottle of Butterbeer. She caught a couple of fifth years eyeing Neville and giggling, so she grinned and gestured toward them with her head. "I suppose you're not going to have any trouble getting a date for the Yule Ball, if they hold it this year."

Neville smiled a bit sheepishly. "Maybe. I'm not really thinking about that, to be honest. What about you? Still seeing Ron?"

Hermione laughed. "No, definitely not! Ron is my friend, nothing more. Honestly I think if we tried dating we'd end up arguing more often than not." She paused, her tone growing pensive. "No, it just seems…complicated, you know?"

Neville gave her a commiserating look. "Believe me, I know." He glanced up, causing Hermione to do the same. A sixth year Gryffindor, Lucilia Gerivalle, was making her way toward them…or specifically, Neville. Neville swallowed heavily and put his bottle down on the table with a thunk. "Excuse me, Hermione. I've got somewhere else to be."

"That was odd," Hermione said, more to herself than anyone else as she took another drink of her Butterbeer. Ginny chose that moment to slide further down the couch so she was next to Hermione, following her eyes to Neville's retreating form.

"There's something odd going on with Neville," Ginny said. "I know his actions have brought him a lot of popularity, but there are a lot of girls taking an interest in him now, and he's…well, he's starting to look downright hunkish, but he runs away from them all. I don't know what to make of it."

Ginny's tone was curious, and Hermione's brows rose. She had been so encapsulated with Draco that she hadn't really been paying attention to her friends' lives as much as she normally would have done.

"Huh. Can't say that I've noticed," Hermione commented, but privately resolved to pay more attention. There were more people in the world to worry about than Draco Malfoy!

It was very late when Hermione finally went back to the Heads' quarters. While she told herself that maybe Draco would have retired already, deep down she knew that wasn't going to happen. So, it was no real surprise to find that Draco was still awake. He was in his shirtsleeves again, hands in his pockets as he paced the room.

"Hermione." Draco was both relieved and nervous. "About this afternoon—″ he began, determined to get out an apology.

"No, it's fine," Hermione said, mentally gritting her teeth. She had dreaded this conversation all afternoon. "You were brought up a certain way, and it was silly of me to forget that. We're both just a bit lonely without our friends, that's all. It's not worth discussing our…historical differences."

"I disagree." Draco's tone was firm. "You need to understand what I meant. I want you to know that I will never disparage you or your heritage."

"Oh, really?" Hermione said, a bit of hurt creeping into her voice before she could stop it. "That didn't seem to concern you for the past seven years."

An exasperated huff of breath left Draco's lips, and he looked up and to the left of his mate, collecting his thoughts. "I was ignorant, okay? I don't like admitting it, but I don't really understand why Muggles do things the way they do."

"Right. So the best course of action is to disparage it. Got it."

"That's not what I meant," Draco protested. "It just doesn't seem logical coming from the wizarding world. I was never encouraged to try to—see it from the other side, as it were."

"And I'm sure your family's high opinion of itself had nothing to do with that," Hermione deadpanned, crossing her arms across her chest.

"That's not the only reason, ok?" he paused, a pained note entering his voice, "I didn't appreciate you because you were the competition. It wasn't easy hearing about being bested at every turn by a Muggleborn every time I went home."

Hermione felt a tiny bit sorry for him. Lucius Malfoy didn't exactly seem like a warm and fuzzy father figure, and Draco was genuinely trying. It was time to offer an olive branch. "Look, we can still work together. Actually, this was probably a good reminder of just how different we are. No matter how…lonely we might feel, this year will be over and we'll be on to the rest of our lives. Let's just keep it professional from here on out, and no hard feelings."

"No!" Draco said loudly, meeting her eyes again. "Listen, you _have_ to understand why I said that about Muggles, Hermione! It's not prejudice, although there was a fair bit of that mixed in when we were growing up, I admit. Still, there was a reason so many were willing to ally themselves to Voldemort. It wasn't just the Dark Arts. He spoke to very real concerns about how the Muggle and Wizarding worlds interact."

At Hermione's eye roll and attempt to turn away, Draco caught her arm briefly, enough to stop her, then dropped it immediately. He was desperate for her to give him the benefit of the doubt, his Veela nature clamoring for restoration, and he wondered if his eyes would give him away.

"Please! Think about it. All the lectures in History of Magic—how many times did interactions between Muggle and Wizard end badly? Just let someone tell you about the Byreaux Controversy. Talk to my father. He was there. Please. I'm not saying this just because I want to keep snogging you—and I do—″ at this Hermione's face heated, "—but because you should know the whole truth. Believe me, I know that better than most."

Hermione wasn't sure what to make of this Draco. He seemed genuinely desperate, and it didn't jive with the arrogant rich sod, or the sad-eyed former Death Eater. There were so many sides to Draco Malfoy, and she didn't know what kind of whole they made.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm tired, okay? I'm clearly not going to stop speaking to you. Just…give me some space, please. I promise I'll think about what you said." Her eyes were still reproachful, but what saved it for him was the fact that she relaxed her arms, letting them fall to her sides. "I'm going to bed now. I suggest you do the same."

"Okay." Draco's eyes tracked her as she turned and went to her room, keeping his hands again in his pockets. She didn't look back.

* * *

The next few weeks passed slowly. While Hermione had promised to think about what he had said, she gave no indication that she was looking into anything, or that she was considering his point of view at all. He began to lose weight, merely picking at his food at meals and ignoring Twinky's entreaties to eat more. He caught Snape giving him suspicious looks, and was surprised that he hadn't been ordered to Mungo's for an examination yet. Worse still would have been his parents turning up with a bunch of legal documents.

Still, despite his precarious situation, he sensed that he couldn't do anything more at the moment to push Hermione. It was risky, and agitating his instincts, but it seemed more harmful than not to aggravate her further at this juncture. He was somewhat heartened to find that she had been to speak with Professor Binns after eight days, but beyond that he had no evidence of what was going through her head.

It was a bit over three weeks since the Incident, as Draco had termed it in his mind, when Snape decided to take a hand.

Hermione was frustrated. Potions was more of a misery than usual today. Not only had Professor Mauviet failed to properly rest the glow worms before the class' attempt at a Luminox potion, he had also insisted they complete the potion in near darkness, "…to emulate the conditions under which you may find yourselves brewing this particular concoction."

Hermione could not imagine a situation where she wouldn't use charmwork to provide some lighting while brewing, but the professor had been insistent. Now they were all huddled around their cauldrons, the extremely faint glow of the potion as it cooked barely providing enough lumens to tell a knife from a stirring rod. It also meant she couldn't exchange any looks with Draco about what an imbecile their Potions professor was. She found that more annoying than she cared to admit.

"Miss Granger. A word, if you please."

Hermione startled, nearly falling off her stool. Professor Snape had taken to using a modification of the Ministry's memo charm to summon students from classes if they were needed. The memos read themselves, thereby notifying the teacher and student simultaneously. She couldn't see the blasted memo, but could hear it rustling as it shredded itself, not unlike a Howler.

"Excuse me, Professor Mauviet," Hermione said, relieved to have the excuse of using Lumos to illuminate her work area. Her potion was passable, but not nearly as bright as it should have been. _Really, it's inexcusable for a Potions professor to make such a mistake!_ Hermione thought to herself as she packed up her supplies.

The mustachioed Frenchman ambled over to look at her potion briefly, his wandtip bobbing as he moved away again, calling back over his shoulder, "Yes, yes. Mr. Malfoy will take care of your potion cleanup. Passable work today, Miss Granger."

She couldn't see Mauviet, but she could see Draco, his eyes silvery in the Lumos charm light. He didn't say a word, but she felt a pang of pain at the strain that lingered between them. "See you later," she said, trying to sound brighter than she felt.

He grunted, clearly annoyed with his potion and the class in general. His mood probably wouldn't be improved by having to clean up her station too. At least she was good about tidying up as she went where possible.

As Hermione approached the Headmaster's office she wondered what he could possibly want. The staircase moved as soon as she arrived, and ascended again equally briskly, turning her out into Snape's office with what seemed like haste. There was no sign of Professor Snape, but the staircase closed behind her, so Hermione slowly moved forward.

"Professor Snape?" There was no one behind the desk, and the portraits were all quiet, simply observing her. Her gaze tracked up the twin staircases behind the professor's desk, and there was someone waiting by the window, limned in the autumn light.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger."

If it jarred her to hear the dulcet tones of Lucius Malfoy, she hid it well. He stepped forward, allowing the shadow to fill out the detail of his features. "If you would be so kind as to join me, I would appreciate it. Please pardon Severus' unexpected absence—something to do with Peeves. He will return shortly."

"I see," Hermione said, although she saw nothing of the kind. Still, she climbed the stairs, secure in the chaperonage of all the portraits and Snape's apparent complicity. She noted the table with parchment set between two chairs, then looked back at Mr. Malfoy. "What is this about?"

Lucius Malfoy was all politeness, extending a hand toward one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

Lacking a better option, Hermione did so. Lucius waited like a perfect gentleman for her to sit, then took the chair opposite with a flourish of his robes. He met her cautious gaze with a firm, somewhat haughty look.

"As a governor of this school, it is my sad duty to inform you that your education has been lacking."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean," Hermione said rather stiffly. Unfazed, Lucius eyed her critically for a moment, then reached into his robe and removed a small object, placing it on the table between them.

"What is that, Miss Granger?" Lucius asked.

"It's a pen," Hermione replied, not making the connection yet.

"What kind of pen, Miss Granger? You may examine it. It's not dangerous to you."

Hermione looked carefully at the elder Malfoy, then picked up the pen. "It's a Biro. A ballpoint pen. The sort you'd buy in a pack of twelve at Ryman's or Staples."

"Precisely. Now, if you would, please sign your name."

A chill went up Hermione's spine. She didn't know what was going on, but this didn't feel right. "I'd rather not, thank you."

"You're quite suspicious, Miss Granger. Just sign the bloody parchment!" came wafting up from the main floor of the office in Snape's growly voice. Hermione's frown eased slightly, and she slowly removed the cap from the pen as Snape came up the stairs, barking, "Any time, Hermione. We haven't got all day for this little history lesson."

Suddenly Hermione remembered what Draco had said. _"…let someone tell you about the Byreaux Controversy…_ " It hadn't been a proper name, as she'd thought. He'd meant a Biro pen. The other part whispered in. _"Talk to my father. He was there."_ She looked up again at the elder Malfoy, who was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Her mind made up, she hurriedly scribbled her name on the page.

"Now what?" she asked, looking from Mr. Malfoy to Professor Snape.

"Watch," Lucius said grimly, removing his wand from his sleeve. He tapped the pen with the tip of his wand, then asked her to sign her name again. After a brief nod from Snape, she picked up the pen and signed her name again. As she did so, however, the ink reformed itself, the letters rearranging themselves to spell "Eugenia Jenkins" despite the motion of her hand.

"She was the Minister for Magic from 1968 to 1975," Hermione said. "What does this mean?"

"It means, Miss Granger, that bills signed by Eugenia Jenkins during her term are all suspect," Snape said. "The Ministry of Magic, in an act of what it termed as progressive efficiency, decided to adopt the use of Biros at the Ministry in a nod to the 'changing times' and as a means of avoiding waste. As you know, parchment is easily spoiled by quill or fountain pen, and repeated blotting by charms leads to the deterioration of text over time. While that may be fine for a school assignment, it is less so for record keeping by the Ministry of Magic. Therefore, the use of Biros was proposed as a means of wasting less parchment due to errors or ink blots."

"More to the point, Hermione, it is corruptible," Lucius said, an edge creeping into his tone. "That pen is susceptible to tampering because of the mechanical nature of its action. The ball by which the ink is delivered can be enchanted, made to follow the same pattern despite the motion of its user. And, in so doing, it can compromise the integrity of anything recorded by it—even bills signed by the Minister for Magic herself."

"Are you telling me that all the actions of the Minister of Magic were compromised due to the use of Biro pens?" It was incredulous. Surely they were exaggerating.

"Yes." Lucius' tone was clipped, pointed.

"Wait. Wouldn't she have noticed that she wasn't signing all the bills she was supposed to?" Hermione asked.

"Imagine that you are the Minister for Magic. You are very busy, and possibly have several people talking to you while you are signing legislation. Under such a circumstance, would you really notice if you were signing less than usual? And of course, it seems so _logical_ to change with the times, especially something so simple. Magic and Muggle Science together, a new era of cooperation—what could be better?" Lucius said.

"But this is horrific. If this is true, why isn't it widely known?" Hermione directed the question to Snape. It seemed a reasonable question. Surely such a scandalous thing would be more widely known if it were true.

"It is not widely known because the Ministry, once made aware of the problem, chose to destroy all the evidence and hush it up," Snape said harshly. "Instead of conceding that they had made a tremendous mistake, causing the review of hundreds of bills, not to mention memos, policies and procedures, and legal recordings, the Ministry quietly reversed the decision to use Biros and chose to let the dust settle, as it were."

"But that's just wrong!" Hermione said. "How would they have known what were legitimate actions and what had been compromised?"

"Indeed, Miss Granger," averred Lucius. "As it happens, there were a lot of mixed messages coming from the Ministry during that time. Bills that were seemingly at loggerheads with one another were both signed into law. Court cases from the Wizengamot were recorded that disagreed with prior rulings, or even disagreed within the same large case."

"But surely it would have been lopsided, yes? If someone were corrupting her signatures…" Hermione stopped as her mind reached the logical conclusion. "Both sides of an argument were doing it."

Lucius smirked. "And not just with the Minister. Think of all the opportunities where parchments are passed around for signatures in a bureaucracy like the Ministry of Magic. If you found that your opponent were cheating, and the result would be that you lost not just money, not just property, but it also endangered you—what would you do? Cheat yourself, perhaps?"

Snape stepped forward. "Also consider the climate of the day. I often hear ignorant speculation as to how Voldemort accumulated so many followers, and of such prominence. Can you imagine the types of political snarls that enmeshed the Ministry and Wizengamot? On the one hand, you had a Ministry fervently denying its role in creating the mess, destroying evidence behind the scenes—and on the other, an articulate and powerful wizard simply telling the truth? Of course, he twisted it to his own purposes, but only after he had a sizeable following."

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Granger." Lucius reached over and tapped the pen again with his wand, then capped it and returned it to the pocket of his robe. "This particular item is one of very few remaining," he explained softly. "It is a potent reminder of why wise wizards and witches are always slow to adopt new things."

"But there must be so many things that were corrupted. How can it be made right?" Hermione was stuck on the unfairness caused by the corruption. "Can't the notes and records be consulted? To get at the true outcomes?"

"Notes and records recorded by Biro pens? I think not." Lucius restrained himself from sneering, but only just. That particular period of history still deeply rankled him.

"But there must be a limit to the level of tampering that is possible. Or perhaps some still used quills? The inks are different, so that could be determined."

"Please do quit being a swot, Miss Granger," Snape ordered. "I assure you, many clever wizards and witches have already been down all of those rabbit trails before you. You are not the first through this looking glass. As a further homework assignment of sorts, you will consider how many Muggle items are subject to Gamp's Law—say a 3 foot parchment, by Monday."

"Are you serious?" Hermione asked rather incredulously.

"Perfectly so. Consider it a special assignment for the seminar," Snape said, his raised brow daring her to question him again. Hermione knew better than to talk back again, but her irritation was evident.

Lucius leaned forward, insisting on Hermione's full attention. "As charming as it is to observe Severus' teaching methods, I am here today because my son indicated to me that you were in need of this information. I assure you, there have been attempts at reconstitution within the Ministry. Unfortunately, with the passage of time it becomes less and less possible. Instead, we must move forward as best we can with what we know of our fellow witch or wizard today."

Lucius stood as he finished speaking, prompting her to stand as well. Somehow Hermione felt that Lucius was talking about more than the Ministry with that last bit, and she wondered exactly what Draco had said to his father.

"That is good advice, Miss Granger. I suggest you heed it." Snape waved his wand at the chairs and table, and they shrank and flew back down the stairs. "Now, I will let this information percolate through that copious grey matter of yours in the comfort of your quarters. Good day."

Hermione realized that Lucius was holding his hand out for hers.

"Miss Granger. It has been, as always, delightful to see you."

She allowed him to take her hand, and was surprised when he raised it to his lips in the perfunctory custom of purebloods before releasing it. She nodded a stiff farewell to Professor Snape, her head full of all that had been said as the staircase ground downward. The Headmaster must have meant how many Muggle artifacts were subject to Ministry regulation—Arthur Weasley's department. Lucius' tale explained why he would detest Arthur in particular, with his penchant for tinkering with Muggle things. _It must strike Lucius as the worst sort of threat_ … Out of habit, her feet took her back to her room.

* * *

Draco felt like shit. After Potions class, he went straight to his quarters. He was supposed to have a meeting with the Slytherin prefects, but fuck that. He had no idea why Snape had summoned Hermione, and he wasn't going anywhere until he knew where she was.

Once he got through the portrait, he didn't even bother putting his books by his desk, just dropped them by the door. He loosened his tie and flopped down on the couch, feeling bone weary. While Hermione seemed just as tired of the status quo as he was, she was still holding herself back from him. He had finally relented and owled his father about the Biro Controversy, but beyond that he didn't know what else to do. He vaguely registered Twinky popping in, nattering on about something…food? It was irrelevant. He fell asleep before the house elf could attempt to press actual food on him.

When Hermione reached their shared common room, she had parsed out precious little from what Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape had told her. It seemed inconceivable that the Ministry would be able to hush up a scandal of such proportions; but then again, this was a Ministry with acres of rooms containing records and prophecies, not to mention all the other secrets of the Department of Mysteries. It was more plausible to contemplate than the equivalent event in the Muggle world.

Stepping through the portrait, Hermione was greeted by an agitated Twinky.

"Miss, you must come. Mr. Draco is not well, not well at all. Come, come! He needs you to wake him up, yes you could…"

Twinky's agitation put a quick end to Hermione's thinking about what Snape and Malfoy Senior had shared. The house elf tugged at her hand, dragging her over to where Draco lay sprawled on the couch. Twinky was nattering on all the while, "…I tells him to eat, but he won't, not with the miss's anger, no. No soup, no bread, no rice, no pudding…"

"Thank you Twinky," Hermione interrupted, bending down to take a closer look. He appeared to be asleep, but on a second look, Hermione noticed that he didn't look terribly well. There were dark circles under his eyes, and when she felt his forehead, it was warm to the touch. She straightened with a frown.

"He does look ill. I'll try to wake him. Could you bring something light for him to eat? Soup and bread, perhaps."

"Yes, Miss Hermione!" Twinky disapparated with a pop, and Hermione leaned down again.

"Draco. Draco!" There was no response, so she sat down next to him on the couch, shaking his shoulder lightly. "Come on, Draco. Enough rest for now, it's time to eat."

"What?" Draco's head was fuzzy from sleep, but he felt warmer and better, then realized that Hermione was very close to him, so he tried to make his befuddled brain work properly. "You're back—what did Snape want?"

Hermione ignored the question, pulling on his arm. "Come on, sit up. You need to eat something, or I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey."

Draco groaned. "Merlin, not that woman. All right, all right, I'm sitting up, I'm sitting up."

Hermione moved a bit further down the couch, and silence settled like a wet blanket between them as Draco came fully awake and the awkwardness of the past few weeks came roaring back. This time, however, Hermione felt compelled to break through it. She couldn't have said whether it was due to Draco being ill, or the meeting with his father, but it felt like the right thing to do.

"Twinky said you haven't been eating." Her voice was soft, but her gaze pinned his with the kind of principled directness that made it impossible for Harry or Ron to lie to her.

Draco brushed that off with a wave of his hand. "It doesn't matter. What did Snape want?"

Hermione looked down and Draco heard her muttered "Stubborn…" before she resigned herself to answering the question. "Your father was there. They told me about the Biro Controversy." She looked up and pinned him again with a look. "Your father said you wrote to him, asking him to tell me about it."

"Yes, I did," Draco said. "I'm sure you see why I thought you ought to know about it."

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I don't know what to think about all of it, honestly. I am going to have to do some research on it."

Draco snorted a bit, his expression wryly amused. "Of course you are."

Hermione was a bit peeved. "What's wrong with that? Do you take everything at face value?"

"Of course not," Draco replied reasonably. "Don't worry, Hermione. I like that you're a bit of a swot." He picked up her right hand, glancing at her briefly before turning his attention fully to it. "Look at these lovely callouses—evidence of a swot if I've ever seen one. And I should know."

He caressed her fingers with his own, making sure that the callouses on his own fingers rubbed against hers. No one had ever done something like that to her before, and Hermione's heart raced crazily as he looked up at her again, that considering look in his eye. She was leaning toward him when the pop of apparition sounded, and they sprang apart, although Draco refused to relinquish her hand.

"Soup and fresh, hot bread!" the elf announced, holding a tray toward Draco.

"Thank you Twinky," Hermione said, aware that her heart was still racing, Draco continuing to stroke her fingers with his.

"You can set the tray on the table, Twinky," Draco said, not even looking at the elf. Hermione, recognizing his game, made the effort to remove her hand from his.

"You need to eat," she said firmly, and turned deliberately toward the table. Looking at both of them, Twinky set down the tray and asked, "Would Miss like some dinner as well?"

"Yes, she would," Draco said decisively.

"I am going to go to the Great Hall—″ Hermione began, but Draco interrupted her.

"I'm not eating anything if you run away, Granger."

"That's blackmail!" Hermione protested.

"Yes, it is, and I'm not sorry for it," Draco retorted. "We're going to finish this, Hermione."

Hermione was indignant now. "Excuse me, but I decide where I eat."

"Was someone in particular waiting for you?" Draco pressed, ignoring the stab of pain at the thought.

"As a matter of fact, no, but—″

"Are any of your friends even going to attend dinner in the Great Hall tonight?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted.

"Let me guess. They're all relaxing in the common room, and will probably wrangle sandwiches out of the house elves at about half-eight, get up to Merlin knows what mischief, and finally toddle off to bed. Am I right?" He had scooched closer on the couch, and Twinky was taking in their exchange with avid fascination.

"Maybe!" Hermione threw up her hands. "Fine, I will eat here! Satisfied?"

"Yes." Draco's grin was part smug, part relieved. "Twinky, please get Hermione some dinner as well."

Hermione shook her head. "You're not well. Your forehead was hot. You should eat and go to bed. Anything else is irrelevant."

Draco's expression softened in response to her plaintive appeal to his common sense.

"I disagree," he said softly.

He heard her muttered "Stubborn git" comment as well. Suddenly ravenous, he turned his attention his soup as Twinky returned with a tray for Hermione.

"Shall we?"

They ate in relative silence, although it was oddly companionable. Hermione was too tired to mentally dissect why that was, and Draco was still feeling subpar, although having moved in a more positive direction with Hermione again helped. They both finished their dinners and sat back on the couch, unwilling to say much of importance. Draco reached over and took her hand again, and Hermione let him. It felt nice, the way he gently caressed her fingers absentmindedly, and who said it had to mean anything, anyway? Sometimes you just wanted a friend. Perhaps that was all this was. Gradually the silence drifted longer, until Hermione registered a weight on her shoulder. She looked, and Draco had fallen asleep, his head lolling onto her shoulder. He still had her hand firmly clasped in his.


	12. I Won't Give Up On Us

**I'm going to post this before the presidential debate starts! Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! I hope this is a suitable reward for you-a new chapter within a week! Woohoo! I've worked hard to get the balance just right here...I hope you will reward me with more reviews if you enjoy it. Thanks so much, and hopefully I can get the replies off now too. Apologies if there are any grammatical errors, I did try to catch them all.**

* * *

Warmth. A soft fabric under her cheek. There was a pleasing scent, making her feel secure. Loved. Cherished. Hermione stirred, feeling very different textures beneath her hands. One was a napped velvet, while the other was the same as the silk under her cheek, except she could feel bumps, the gradual shift of skin, muscle.

"Oh. Um…" she lifted her head and met Draco's amused gaze, then looked down at how she was sprawled over him on the couch, one of his arms resting comfortably on her lower back. "I'm not sure how this happened…"

"Don't go anywhere on my account," Draco said. "It's quite chilly without the fire going, anyway."

Hermione then realized that someone had put a throw over both of them, belatedly registering its weight on her— _their_ —legs. The fire was just banked coals, the light dim. Why would Twinky have left them like this? She was embarrassed, but she was the one who'd stayed on the couch with Draco asleep on her shoulder. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she must have done, and at some point they had made themselves more comfortable as they slept.

"Excuse me," she said as she scrambled to sit up, shoving back the blanket. "Twinky, I guess."

"Probably," Draco agreed, sitting up himself, running his fingers through his hair. Hermione looked at him, and all of the conflicted feelings and confusion just tumbled out of her mouth with one simple question.

"What exactly is happening between us, Draco?"

He could pretend to not know what she meant, but that wouldn't help either of them. There was softness there, in her voice, and Draco recognized his moment. The light was too dim to really read her expression, so he briefly looked at the fireplace, a quiet " _Ignis_ " sparking fresh flames and providing more light before he turned to meet her steady gaze. "About that…time for a chat, I think. Tea?"

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience Twinky at this time of night," Hermione said, to which Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"I do know how to make tea, Hermione. Ever heard of a spirit kettle?"

"Of course." She shouldn't be surprised, but somehow she'd always pictured him as being helpless when it came to domestic things. Silly, but part of the stereotypical rich boy she'd built in her head.

Hermione watched Draco as he drew his wand and summoned a kettle and tea things from his room. She turned her head and smiled when she saw that he was using bluebell flames to heat the kettle. The room still felt cool, so she used her own wand to coax the flames in the fireplace, and lit a few of the candles around the room while she was at it. Her body was cooling down, so she grabbed the throw and arranged it over her lap, crossing her legs to the side as Draco came back over, carrying two mugs of tea. He offered her one, and she thanked him and took a sip.

"Perfect," she said in response to his nonverbal question, and he nodded before sitting down again next to her.

"Good." He sipped his own tea, staring at the flames as he considered how to start. Hermione, however, beat him to it. She had a lot of unanswered questions, and now was the best time to start asking them.

"What can you tell me about what is going on? It seems to be have blown up out of nothing, this…attraction between us—and given all that has gone before, it worries me." Hermione paused, a frustrated huff of breath skittering across her tea. "I can't even be attracted to someone without evaluating it in light of the war and spells and…it's just wrong!"

"I know exactly what you mean," Draco assured her. "Believe me, this surprised me too, although I have had longer to get used to the idea than you have."

Hermione thought he meant since the start of term, so she just nodded, but Draco knew better. She bit her lip slightly, and Draco realized he'd made her nervous. _We'll talk about that, too,_ he resolved, but just now he had a skittish mate to soothe. He distracted her by sweeping some of the hair away from her face. "You've got a mean case of bedhead, Granger."

He was attempting to distract her, she realized, but it was easier to go with it than refuse the warm tingles from his brief touch. He had the funny little almost-smile on his face again, the one that made her wonder if he was laughing at her just a little, and Hermione felt it necessary to retaliate in kind, using her left hand to attempt to brush some of the fine blond hair from his forehead.

"I could say the same," she said, realizing after she'd done it that touching him back was quite intimate, really, when she stopped to think about it.

"Come here." His tone was husky, that mysterious swirl of silver back in his eyes. Hermione moved closer, nervous anticipation humming through her. He pulled her in gently, pressing a feather light kiss just below her ear, causing her to shiver. "Can I kiss you again, Hermione?"

His breath was warm against her throat, and Hermione closed her eyes, the sensations running through her a delicious sort of agony. "Yes."

His lips were on hers and all thought was swept away. He kissed her gently, bringing both hands into play. He kept one hand cupped behind her head, the fingers of his left hand gently tracing the side of her face as he kissed her again and again.

Hermione completely melted. She paused to look at him. How could he know exactly what to do to make her so hot and bothered? "How do you do that?" she whispered. "You make my brain melt."

Draco laughed slightly. "That's two of us, then."

Hermione took a deep breath and sat back again, determined to finish this conversation with some semblance of clearheadedness. "As nice as that is, it doesn't exactly help us move forward."

He paused, drinking in her features. Hermione cleared her throat, and he realized he had been staring. "Sorry," he said, although he clearly wasn't. He ran his fingers through his hair to distract his sappy instincts, refocusing his mind on the point of the conversation. _Here goes nothing._ He cleared his throat, then set down his mug and took hers out of her hands, then carefully took them in his, turning on the couch so he could watch her carefully. "The thing is, Hermione, what _I'm_ doing is courting you."

Hermione was stunned. _He can't possibly mean what I think that means._ Then her brain clicked into high gear, and several things suddenly made sense.

"Your father was more than conciliatory to me this afternoon, which tells me that he knows what you intend, and, unbelievably, he apparently approves." She paused to look at Draco, who nodded in affirmation. "That is quite a long way to come in a short period of time. Considering that you spent years insulting me, it has been enough of a sea change for me that you've been…well, not a complete prat. So to add in _this_ …" she gestured between them. "Well…"

She stopped, and Draco could practically feel her skepticism creeping back in about his motives. She didn't want to think this was some sort of game for him, but old habits die hard. He wanted to kiss her again, but this was a fight he had to wage with his words alone.

"I know what you're thinking: it's a lot to ask of you when you're not sure of me. You're thinking that I'm a Slytherin, and a Malfoy to boot. We always have an angle. Salazar, we have several angles. And you're a war hero, the golden girl—what better way to rehabilitate the Malfoy image than to court you? But that's not why I'm courting you, Hermione. _"_

He paused to take in her response to that. She was still listening, but he could tell from the cant of her brow that she was still skeptical.

"First, let me tell you why my family wouldn't need the kind of 'image rehabilitation' that would require me to court and marry you. My mother risked everything to lie to Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, telling him that Harry was dead when she knew he wasn't. I didn't reveal who you were at my house, and even helped you escape, at great personal cost. And my father distracted Voldemort when he was hunting the three of you, again, at great personal cost. That is part of what was detailed in our trials. That is why my father's positions have all been restored, and our wealth remains largely untouched. And if you think we care what other people think of us, well, then you don't know the Malfoys very well."

"That's true enough," Hermione said. "And that all makes sense, in your arrogant way."

"You like my arrogance," Draco stated boldly.

Hermione sighed, and fixed him with a look over the rim of her mug. "Really, Draco?"

"I'm serious," he insisted. "It means I am confident in who I am, and you admire that in a person."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why I want to snog the daylights out of you," Hermione muttered into her tea, causing Draco to grin.

"No, it doesn't. Yes, I heard that. Look," Draco set his mug down on the table, then laced his fingers loosely, letting them hang down between his knees as he leaned forward from the couch, toward her. "Hermione, something happened to me last year. It brought out a part of me that I didn't know existed. I went through a painful journey of reflection and unpleasant realizations about myself. I'm here, back at Hogwarts, because of you. I wanted to show you that there is more to me than the spoiled, ill-mannered boy you've known, and to apologize for how I treated you."

There it was again, the silver swirl in Draco's eyes.

"Does it have to do with why your eyes turn silver sometimes when you look at me?" Hermione asked, a glimmer of an idea forming.

"Yes."

Hermione's breath caught.

"Hermione, I'm a Veela, and you're my mate."

Her mug crashed to the floor, hot tea spattering everywhere along with shards of ceramic. _Oh shit._ It all made horrible, perfect sense.

"Sorry!" Hermione took out her wand, her mind a tumble of confusion.

"Let me," Draco said, using his wand to clean up the mess, then catching her hands, wary of her wand. "Look at me. How are you feeling?"

His tone was firm, and Hermione knew she couldn't hide from this.

"I don't know. It's a lot to take in. I…I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"I understand." They were sitting quite close together on the couch, so Draco waited patiently for her to speak.

"How long have you known?" Hermione asked at last.

"More than nine months," he said, the expression in his eyes changing like a swirl of liquid mercury.

"How could you not tell me when we started back at school?" Hermione demanded. She was defensive and angry. This all felt like he'd been playing a massive game with her life!

Draco decided to give her a taste of his own frustration. "Because you still saw me as the same old bully from your childhood, only you mixed in a healthy dose of _pity_ because I was on the losing side. I saw it in your eyes when Snape informed us of our appointments: how you felt I had _suffered_ enough that you could be the 'bigger person' and treat me with superficial politeness. I wasn't going to let you do that to me, to pity me and then allow that to morph into something I'd have to spend a lifetime battling between us."

He paused and Hermione could see how upset the memories made him, his face darkening as he spoke until he shook his head to clear it, to return to the point. "Don't you see, Hermione? You needed to see me as _me_ , Draco. _I have kept up with you in every subject, every year._ I challenged you, and then I've kept you safe, as long as I knew you were my mate."

Hermione felt a lump of hurt in her throat and wrapped her arms around herself in a comforting gesture. She could feel tears pricking behind her eyelids as she spoke, but it had to be said. "It wasn't quite that nice, was it? You were so cruel to me. You singled me out, Draco—every time, even when you could have walked away without damaging your infernal pride. Why couldn't you just leave me alone, just once?"

"Hermione. I didn't know you were my mate back then; I didn't even know I was going to be a full Veela. I am sorry for hurting you. I could blame lots of things for it: my upbringing, my prejudices, my fears, but ultimately I was the one who chose to treat you that way. I like to think that my character has improved since then."

"You could have just ignored me," Hermione said with watery eyes, looking away from him in embarrassment.

"No, I couldn't," Draco said impatiently. "Not with Boy Wonder and Weasley practically glued to your side. Between that and your House it's a wonder I got away with as little taunting as I did! What kind of attention do you think you would have gotten from Slytherin House if I hadn't been the one leading the charge? At least I never accosted _you_ physically. And once the war broke out…you have no idea what I did on your behalf."

"How exactly do you think you've protected me?" Hermione said, wiping her eyes hastily. This was a somewhat emotionally safer topic of conversation.

Draco knew he was getting through to her now. "I protected you from the day I found out you were my mate, when you were being tortured by Bellatrix. I didn't even know it was you. All I knew was that I recognized you by your blood scent, and I had to save you."

"How could you not tell me then?" she asked him, her eyes beseeching him for more context, the rawness of her feelings about that day bleeding into her voice.

"It was too dangerous," he said hoarsely, equally emotional and wanting her to know it. "I had to protect you at all costs. I was already concealing my maturity from the Dark Lord—if he had discovered that I was a Veela, and that you were my mate…"

He did not have to continue for Hermione to understand what he meant.

"You could find me," she said, holding his gaze, his eyes now a shimmering silver grey. "At any time, your instincts would have led you to me."

"I did find you once," he admitted. "Snape brought me to Cornwall, and though I could not see the house where you were, I knew you were there. I was there when you broke out of Gringotts."

Hermione's eyes widened as she thought back to what had happened on that day. She tilted her head slightly, studying Draco's expression. "You helped us escape, didn't you?"

"Let's just say that all those years of playing Quidditch were useful for something," he said. "I rode alongside that dragon for hours with you three. It was heaven and hell, to smell you and not be able to touch you, or let you know I was there."

As she thought about all of Draco's actions in light of his Veela nature, so many odd things this year made sense. The Sorting Hat's song, Snape's seminar on the rights of magical creatures, the strange behavior of the Malfoys in Hogsmeade…it all clicked into place. Still, something bothered her. "Would you have made those choices, though, if it weren't for your Veela nature? I've always been bothered by that part of Veela lore—that it seems like magical coercion of some type—and I can't find that morally acceptable."

"The thing is, Hermione, I've always been a Veela. My choices have always been influenced by that, even before I reached maturity. I just didn't know it until then," Draco paused, holding his hand out for hers. It was a silent request, for connection and the beginning of a new stage in their relationship. He wasn't sure if she was going to take it, but finally, after a long look, she did. He let out the breath he was holding, aware that they had crossed a bridge. "Part of being a Veela means I could never do anything intentionally to hurt you. That's part of why I approached you this way. I wanted you to feel courted, the old-fashioned way."

Hermione heard what Draco said, and even agreed with it, but she was highly distracted by the feel of his hand. She could now understand why Veela mates described the connection they had as supremely pleasurable. She couldn't keep her hands off him even in her sleep, for Godric's sake! A flush crept over her skin as she thought about all the things a Veela was supposedly able to glean from their mate's scent. Draco must have picked up on her train of thought because a corner of his mouth quirked up, and he used his hand to caress her cheek. "Don't worry, Hermione. Everything I know about you, I find delightful. Quite a delicious twist of irony, isn't it?"

Draco's mouth curving upward in an amused smile was quite bewitching, and Hermione leaned forward, studying his face. Her heart hammered suddenly, that warm aroma from his skin begging her to get closer. She felt him freeze, and that was all the reassurance she needed. _He is letting me decide_. "Yes, it is," she agreed, then kissed him lightly before he kissed her back. His lips flared with heat, and Hermione actually _felt_ it, the way he lit up inside simply from her touch.

 _Yes!_ Draco was in alt: she KNEW, and she was kissing him! He broke off to look at her, his tone serious. "You're in control here, Hermione. We can stop at any time. I'm not…too far gone, instinct-wise."

She nodded, and Draco dove back into her glorious mouth. It didn't mean he wasn't going to show her exactly how much fun this was while he could, and he nipped gently beneath her ear again. That had really set her off last time.

Hermione let out a little moan. _God that felt so good!_ She pressed her own kisses to his stubbly jaw because she couldn't resist the texture of it as he continued to sample her neck, licking and sucking small areas in between tiny kisses. Hermione kissed her way to his earlobe, Draco generously turning his head to accommodate her explorations. When she reached it, in a fit of inspiration she sucked the lobe into her mouth, eliciting a moan from Draco in exchange. Emboldened by his response, she teasingly bit down a bit.

He obviously liked that a lot, as Draco cupped her head with both hands and brought her lips back to his, this time bringing his tongue into play as he gently leaned backward, causing Hermione to chase him until he was once again lying down, Hermione tangled on top of him. A stray thought flitted through her mind: _holy shit can he kiss!_ It was more that he was making love to her mouth: stroking, sucking, and tasting so intently it was as if he was trying to memorize her response to each approach.

"You like that?" he growled after one particular combination of French kiss followed by a sharp nip from his teeth on her throat made her clench his arm and grab hold of his shoulder, shifting to her side.

"Merlin yes," she breathed against his lips, seeing that peculiar flash of silver in his eyes before he was again kissing the daylights out of her. One of his hands migrated to her back, moving down to cup her rear. She was hardly innocent herself, one of her hands traveling inside the open collar of his shirt, a button or two somehow coming undone to allow her hand to travel along his very fine collarbone, feeling the hint of pectoral muscle, the smoothness of his skin.

Draco knew he was getting close to the limits of his control. Still, his sexy mate was pushing all the right buttons, and he wanted to push her as far as she was willing to go. Gripping her bum, he completed the flip that was in progress, settling her beneath him and pushing a bit against her hips as he continued to work her mouth with his tongue. She was really worked up, and he was silently thankful that he had a bit of a cold, as he wasn't sure he could have taken being able to smell her arousal.

Hermione registered the thrust of Draco's hips, making her suddenly aware of her own sodden state. She broke off the kiss, tucking her head into his neck and just breathing for a few moments, then murmured, "Too much, too fast."

 _And that did it_ , Draco thought. Still, it was more than he thought she'd be ready for. He was breathing hard himself, fighting to control the impulse to nudge her instinctive responses, to complete the bond. _Salazar's balls, I ache!_ He shifted, trying to put a bit of distance between them, or, more specifically, between their achiest bits. She noticed, and he felt a hint of embarrassment bleed through. He gently nudged her chin up so they could look at one another.

"It's fine, sweetheart," Draco assured her.

"I know," Hermione replied, even if it was a lie. She knew nothing of the kind. His face was half in shadow, half in light, and it seemed like a metaphor for who he was, and the roller coaster of their relationship. Unfortunately, there was no pause button. The instincts they were contending with were pretty powerful and obviously not something they could ignore.

Hermione blushed and looked away from him briefly. It was odd to be so close to him and yet so right, to feel the warmth of his skin and feel his heartbeat. "It is odd, though. I've spent years disliking you—"

"Hating me—" Draco interjected,

"—arguing with you, finding you frankly to be an utter prat; and now I find you have been on my side for nearly a year, that you risked death to save me from torture, you served as a sort of bodyguard when I didn't even know I had a magical mate…it's just a lot to take in."

"It's part of me, Hermione," he said, as if it were as natural as breathing to him. He supposed that in a way, it was, because he wouldn't survive without her. "I need you as much as I need air. You simply complete me."

Hermione looked away from him, uncomfortable with the raw honesty of Draco's expression. It was overwhelming, this sense of rightness which warred with her sense of fair play. She didn't like this idea that her free will was compromised by a magical bond, no matter how fundamental it was to the Veelas' survival as a species. He could feel her pulling back from the draw before she pushed at him gently, sitting up again.

"But you manipulated me, Draco. Ever since the start of the school year, you've pretended to be like everyone else, knowing all along that at some point you were going to confront me with this and admit you'd been lying to me. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Draco knew she would bring this up, and he was fully prepared to defend his decision. "That's not true. I let you have time to get to know me as Draco instead of Malfoy, and I gave us time to move beyond all of the childish hurt between us. If I had told you from the beginning of the year, you would have felt as if I were compelling you somehow every time we talked and you walked away with a different opinion of me."

"Weren't you?" Hermione shot back, feeling that edgy discomfort again now that she was away from him. She didn't like the implications of that.

"No, I wasn't. I haven't used my essence on you once, not since that day at my house—and I only used it then because it was the only way I could get you to accept my Imperius."

Hermione sighed. "That's what I mean, though. Your Veela essence—it sounds like a date rape drug. It's designed to bring about the bond, right? Even if the mate is uncertain. And that, fundamentally, is wrong."

Draco was quick to defend the Veela mating rituals. "That's not how it works at all. I could never use it on you knowing how you feel about it. It just enhances how we feel at the time. I used it once, to save your life—and even then you were only accepting it because you recognized that I was trying to help you in a time of mortal peril. It's not like I could just zap you with it and boom, we're married—and I'd never want to do that to you anyway, because all I want is to make you happy."

Hermione gave a half laugh. "You really do know exactly what to say. I just can't process all of this tonight; but I'm glad you've finally told me. So thank you for that."

"You're very welcome—″ Draco was interrupted by a swift knock on the portrait, which opened immediately to let the Headmaster in, robes swirling behind him darkly. He said nothing to finding them both cozied up on the couch, merely quirked one brow upward.

"Draco, your father has been injured in an attack. I'm here to take you to him at St. Mungo's."


	13. Blood Is Thicker

**Hello my wonderful readers. I am sorry you have waited so long for this new chapter. I would love to say it was due to work and just the normal craziness of my life, but unfortunately I have been dealing with some serious health issues for an immediate family member. This has resulted in a large amount of personal stress and will continue until the condition can be corrected. I hope that will be happening in the next couple of weeks, despite the hospital stays and such that will result. At this point we just want it to be fixed (and thankfully it can be). I hope you can understand why this has left me with little time to myself, let alone the energy and inspiration to write. However, I have this now where I want it, and I hope you enjoy it. Please say thanks by leaving a review if you do. I will do my best to do some review replies now before our Thanksgiving meal is ready. I am thankful for all of you!**

* * *

St. Mungo's was always sterile in the manner of every hospital, but St. Mungo's at night was an entirely different affair. Draco walked alongside Severus, his mind blank but for the immediate situation. Snape said nothing, merely gripped his arm to turn him toward the right room.

"Is my mother here?"

Draco's tone was cool, clinical. Severus recognized it well: it was the way they had all spoken while serving the Dark Lord. Dtachment was the only thing that made it possible to keep your sanity, maybe. There were two Aurors stationed outside the door, a fact which Draco noted but figured he would hear about soon enough.

"Yes. She's already with him."

Draco nodded, then opened the door. Narcissa rushed to envelope him in her arms, her face drawn.

"Draco!"

He returned his mother's hug, his eyes fixed on the sight of his father lying there, helpless in a hospital bed. He could feel her tears against his skin, but he needed information more than comfort.

"What happened?" He kept his tone low, not wanting to disturb his father in any respect.

Narcissa's eyes were bleak. "He never returned from visiting you. I am not sure where he went, but the Aurors were called by Aberforth Dumbledore. He was found in the Forbidden Forest. Aberforth…interrupted them."

Draco swore under his breath. "How many?"

"There were three that Aberforth saw. It was dark, raining. It's possible that more Apparated away. He couldn't say with the thunder."

"I see." A muscle in Draco's temple ticked, and he cleared his throat. "What do the Healers say?"

"His back was badly…cut up. It's his spine they are worried about. Severus has a potion brewing, but for the time being at least he's not in pain…" Narcissa's voice trailed off, and Draco understood why. She meant that he couldn't feel anything. The bastards had damaged his spinal cord.

"Has he regained consciousness at all?"

Narcissa straightened herself, slowly.

"No. They believe he will wake, once enough healing has occurred. The Aurors are a precaution, in case they try to finish what they started," she said bitterly.

"He's too tough to kill," Draco assured his mother, taking hold of her arms and forcing her to look at him. "You've told me that how many times? This is just another time he's come too close to the edge."

Narcissa took a deep breath, the hauteur flowing across her face telling Draco exactly how bad it was. "If your father is paralyzed, Draco, I dare say he would prefer to have been thrown over."

* * *

The day passed incredibly slowly for Hermione. There was no sign of Professor Snape. She spent several hours in the library before lunch working on Snape's extra assignment, but when she read what she had written it was a jumbled mess.

At lunchtime she chatted a bit with Ginny, but her friend was clearly preoccupied. She would only mutter about new maneuvers and the importance of practicing, leaving the table early in her Quidditch gear.

Prasanna Patil watched her go, then said to Hermione, "The game against Slytherin is coming up quickly. I hope they are able to master those new moves, or else I am not sure it will go well."

"Right," Hermione said, although she had very little interest in the Quidditch game at this point. There was no sign of Neville, which was odd. He wasn't one to miss a meal. Frowning, she asked, "Have you see Neville, Prasanna?"

Caught mid-bite, Prasanna shook her head. Hermione looked down and realized she was idly tearing apart a piece of bread. She couldn't stop wondering what had happened to Lucius, and how Draco was doing. The silence on both subjects was grating on her. She put the mutilated roll on her plate, her eyes tracking thoughtfully to the high table. Professor McGonagall was just pushing back her chair.

"See you later, Prasanna."

"Bye Hermione!"

It wasn't too hard to track down her Head of House. Professor McGonagall was heading for her quarters, and all it took was an overly loud "Professor!" to cause Minerva to stop in her tracks. When the venerable witch turned to her, however, her countenance was heavy.

"Hermione, please, come in for a brief chat. I suspect I know what you want to talk about."

The witch's personal quarters were filled with overstuffed chairs in tartans of several clans, and the fire was stoked with peat instead of logs. Hermione sat on the edge of her chair, waiting for Minerva to make herself comfortable.

"Tea?" she asked briskly, and Hermione shook her head.

"Has there been any news about Mr. Malfoy or Draco?"

Minerva's gaze was direct but leaden. "I have not heard anything further, and Severus has yet to return. When he was notified, it was not good news. I fear that Narcissa and Draco may face some very hard choices."

"I see." Hermione looked down at her lap. She didn't know how to sort through everything she was feeling.

Minerva contemplated her student, and then she ventured to poke her nose into the young witch's business. "I take it Draco has told you…?"

Hermione raised her head. "That he is a Veela? Yes. And that, amazingly ironic as it may be, I am his mate, and he is my mate. I've not quite come to terms with it, to be honest."

Minerva coughed briefly, then gave Hermione a frank look. "I've never been as familiar with the Muggle world as some, but I understand that fated mates is not something that most Muggles truly believe in."

Hermione let out a strangled half laugh. "You could say that. It's like something out of a bad Mills & Boon novel."

Professor McGonagall's brows rose. "I may not know what those are, but I can tell you that Muggle caricatures are often a bad starting point to transition to wizarding reality, as you know all too well. It speaks volumes that Draco, for all his flaws, has chosen to court you instead of involve the Ministry and their endless magical species conscription laws. I would think that is a large point in his favor, hmm?"

Hermione's mouth quirked up into a wry expression. "I recognize that. And it is impossible to ignore the…" she paused for a millisecond, thinking _in for a knut, in for a galleon_ , and continued, "…animal attraction factor. It's pretty difficult to ignore him."

"It has _always_ been difficult to ignore young Mr. Malfoy," Minerva said briskly, "unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons up to this point! Nonetheless, the past is the past, no matter who is intent on raking it over again." She paused, then added, "I doubt very much that Harry and Ron will be terribly supportive. Add in the consequences of Draco's past actions—notwithstanding those of his father—and you have a very long road."

"I am aware," Hermione admitted, clasping her hands firmly together. "Right now I just want to know what happened to his father. He was here to speak with me about Draco."

Minerva sighed, then placed her glasses on her nose. "One moment."

A quick flick of her wand retrieved a thick book from the shelf, and a simple flick of her wrist had the pages flapping. "Hmmm...Student Conduct Code Exceptions Pertaining to Magical Species…" a longer pause ensued, "Ah, here we are. Veelas courting during the school year…ah, yes. Good. Enough of that then."

The book floated away, and Professor McGonagall replaced her wand up her sleeve. "You'll be happy to hear I can tell you what little I know at this point without breaking the rules governing student confidentiality since Draco has informed you of your status as his mate."

"Great," Hermione said sarcastically. "At least someone will tell me what is going on, since Draco and the headmaster obviously can't."

"Exactly," McGonagall said sternly. "As it happens, Lucius Malfoy was attacked in the Forbidden Forest. He never made it home after leaving here yesterday, and he is presently unconscious and badly injured. Thus you are likely exactly correct in your supposition that neither the headmaster nor your mate are available!"

Hermione burst into tears.

Minerva knew she had been a bit tart, but no word from Severus did not indicate good tidings. Hermione needed to buck up before Draco returned to the school if she was going to be able to support him. Now she regretted pushing so hard. Fumbling for a solution, she summoned a decanter and poured two fingers of whisky into a glass. "Here, drink this. To Hades with the rules."

Hermione took the glass automatically, the belch of flames giving away its identity. Closing her eyes, she quaffed the liquor in one go, the heat of it warming her all the way down before she belched a tiny bit of smoke.

"Not so fast!" Minerva cautioned. "There, the color is already returning to your cheeks."

"I just want to know how he is, that's all." She always hated being in the dark, as her imagination ran wild in the absence of facts.

"As soon as I hear anything, Hermione dear, I will let you know, day or night," Minerva promised. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a couple more students to check on. We have an unusual set of circumstances coinciding this year, and as charming as a Veela courtship can be, it's not the only wrinkle we're managing this year. Go back to your quarters. As soon as I hear anything, I will send word."

Hermione's felt the warmth of the firewhisky spreading out from her belly as she stood. "Thank you, Professor. I appreciate your concern and help."

The elder witch shook her head. "When we're in private, Hermione, do call me Minerva. I've earned the right to break a few rules every now and again."

It was late that evening before Hermione finally heard from Draco. She received a note hand delivered by Twinky as she was preparing to go to bed.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _My father is still alive, but facing tremendous complications. Professor Snape is here assisting with potions, and the Healers are doing everything possible. He has yet to regain consciousness. I am trying to help my mother stay confident in his recovery as we wait. I would not have you here, though, given the dangers that would pose. Please take care of yourself, and when I can, I will be back. I will tell you as things progress. Please do not send owl post, as it's not clear if that is being monitored. Twinky can send any return correspondence via one of the Malfoy house elves._

 _Yours,_

 _Draco_

"Twinky, can you wait for a reply, please?"

At the elf's nod, Hermione sat down to write.

* * *

"Tea, Mother." Draco held out the porcelain cup, waiting for her to drink it.

"Thank you Draco." Narcissa was too pale, but she drank the tea which restored a bit of color to her face. "What would we do without Twigs," she added as an afterthought.

Draco nodded, his thoughts on more than their house elves. The Healers had bustled in and out several times over the past couple of hours, dark prognostications and frowns saying all that needed to be said.

"Mrs. Malfoy. Draco. A word, if you please."

Draco stood stiffly, the hateful feeling of impotence and anger rising as he waited to hear whatever indignities the Head Auror had to impart. Kuponda's eyes tracked briefly over him and his mother before he spoke again.

"We have not had much success determining where Mr. Malfoy was initially assaulted. There are a few wand traces, but they are degraded due to the condition of the forest itself. Mr. Dumbledore has not been able to provide much additional detail beyond what he described when he first summoned the Aurors to the scene. I am not optimistic about our chances of tracing back to a particular wand, especially given Mr. Ollivander's fragile health."

This last was said with a clouded look at Draco, and he restrained the sneer that threatened, instead stiffening and standing even taller. "You are well aware that we did everything we could for him during the war."

Kuponda's forehead furrowed. "I am aware, Mr. Malfoy, but your father's assailants are equally aware of the costs of what he suffered. I daresay they are feeling quite secure in the aftermath of their work. As a consequence, I would encourage you to consider withdrawal from Hogwarts and sitting your NEWTs privately. It is highly likely that they will be emboldened by their success, and you both are their next natural targets."

Narcissa stiffened next to Draco. "I am well capable of defending myself, Mfupa, as you know. You will also find that I am not in the habit of making unnecessary jaunts. As for Draco, he has good reason to be at Hogwarts."

Kuponda turned his hawkish gaze to Draco. "Is that so?"

"It would be inadvisable for my business interests to not repair as many school connections as possible," Draco offered noncommittally. Kuponda was having none of it.

"There is no assistance I can offer for business matters, young Master Malfoy, but if your interests were of a more personal nature, I would advise you to consider carefully the protections available from the Ministry."

"I'm sure we don't know what you mean," Narcissa sniffed, but she wrapped one arm around her waist in a self-protective gesture that Kuponda didn't miss. He sighed and was about to say something when Severus entered the room with the Healers carrying a small copper cauldron, steam curling in wisps around the edges of the lid. The chief Healer addressed Narcissa gravely, "Madame, it is time to try the treatment we discussed."

"Of course," Narcissa murmured, and moved off toward Lucius' bedside. Draco made to do the same, but Mfupa Kuponda stopped him, brow raised.

"Your former compatriots clearly ascertained certain things about your father, as evidenced in their treatment of him," he said quietly, nodding to Lucius. "It's likely they will extend those assumptions to you, and any other person that might be important to you. Consider that when you shun the Ministry's laws, young Malfoy."

"I am intimately acquainted with the Ministry's powers," Draco replied. "Perhaps _you_ should consider its limitations. I understand there are significant… _concerns_ with the Unspeakables, and perhaps some Aurors. I suggest you clean your own house, Mr. Kuponda, before you offer to safeguard mine."

* * *

Lucius was still unconscious, the hours ticking by, when Draco received a reply from Hermione. He had persuaded his mother to go home for a late dinner, and was hoping that she would take the opportunity to get a few hours of sleep. She would probably be back within the hour, however. The longer it took for his father to regain consciousness, the worse his prognosis would be, so Draco was thankful for the distraction of the note that Twigs offered.

 _Dear Draco,_

 _I'm sorry. I wish had words of comfort to offer, but I know the Healers are doing all they can. Snape's expertise is not inconsequential, and I'm sure that will help your father as well. I hope that his body is healing itself through this time of unconsciousness, and that when I next see you or hear from you, it will be with better tidings._

 _I wish I could have expressed more gratitude at the time for your father's effort to help me understand the limitations of the Ministry for Magic. You, too, have been unquestionably restrained in how you have chosen to approach me. You must despise the circumstances that conspire at every turn against your nature. I appreciate all of your efforts and patience on my behalf. I recall your statement about Veelas in our seminar; how attuned you are to your mate…and I see more clearly than ever your care of my feelings. I wish I could be with you to provide the same care. Be careful and watchful, and know that I am thinking of you with kindness. I miss you._

 _Affectionately,_

 _Hermione_

Draco exhaled quietly, then ran his fingers through his hair. The door to the room opened, and he was unsurprised to see that it was Severus. His fingers relaxed on his wand in his sleeve as he stood.

"The Healers disagree about the effectiveness of the potion," Draco said, nodding toward the scrolling displays of the Healers' various monitoring charms.

"Of course they do. The effects will be cellular, and therefore will take time to become evident," Snape said dismissively. "He has survived worse, I assure you."

"Then why is my mother so worried?" Draco retorted.

"If she were truly worried, she would still be here. I would take her departure as evidence of her faith instead of its lack," Severus replied, then gestured to the unopened sandwich on the chair next to Draco. "I see you are caring for yourself with your usual vigor."

"it's not important."

"I dare say there is one witch who would disagree," Severus said pointedly. "When your mother returns, I am taking you back to Hogwarts. You look like death warmed over, and probably feel about as good."

"Fuck off," Draco said, but there was little heat in it, which told Severus he was correct to insist.

"Language," Severus remarked with a sardonic quirk of his lips.

Draco's eyeroll said it all. The door opened again, this time to admit one of the Malfoy family solicitors.

"Ah, young Master Draco. Given the circumstances, I need to review some business dealings with you before action can be taken by the company…" Mr. Causidicus began briskly, enlarging a sheaf of parchment from his case, then eyeing both Draco and Snape. "And, we will need to discuss your continued school attendance should Mr. Malfoy's indisposed state continue."

"I'm not leaving school," Draco replied hotly, his eyes flashing once.

"Patience," Snape said, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder, then turning his attention to Causidicus. "I believe such a discussion would be premature. I suggest revisiting this topic later should it become necessary."

"Well," the solicitor huffed, and Draco shook off Snape's hand with impatience. "I can deal with this," he said.

Severus made no reply, but rapidly made to sheathe his wand up his sleeve. This startled the solicitor, who gave a little jump. Satisfied, Severus left the room without another word. The solicitor drew a deep breath, his chest puffing out with his own self-importance before he attempted to regain his equilibrium. "Of course you can, Master Draco. Your father has the utmost confidence in you…"

"Just show me what was so important that you had to bring it to my ill father's bedside," Draco snapped, cutting off the pompous wizard.

Causidicus was clearly displeased, but knew better than to argue with a client over manners. Spreading out the documents in the air, he began. "It's about the Chinese and German acquisitions your father was pursuing. There are some legal entanglements due to recent actions in the German parliament and Chinese senate regarding the trade of magical ingredients across borders…"

* * *

There was no additional word from Draco overnight, and Hermione was left to worry about what was going on. She had no idea if Snape was back or not, but as it wasn't uncommon for the headmaster to be absent, no one noticed or remarked on it. In addition to her classes, Hermione found herself running the prefects' weekly meeting alone.

"Draco was summoned away on family business," was the only explanation she offered, and apparently there wasn't any chatter about the attack on Lucius because no one questioned that explanation. Hermione thought it was rather lucky given the number of people who worked at St. Mungo's, but perhaps it was just a matter of time and which edition of the Daily Prophet broke the story.

After the meeting she headed toward the library out of habit more than anything else. She had just turned the corner when she nearly ran into someone.

"Oh, Hermione! Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," Neville said in a rush.

"It's fine, Neville. No harm done," Hermione said, trying to inject a bit of levity into her voice. "Where are you off to then?"

"The greenhouses. Professor Sprout wanted some help repotting some _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ ," Neville said.

Hermione took the time to really look at him and realized he was fully togged out in his Herbology gear. "Ah, of course," she said with a wave of her hand at him. "If I had opened my eyes I'd have realized."

Neville paused and took a closer, slightly suspicious look at her. "You don't want to help me, do you?"

Hermione wrinkled her brow. "No. Why would I want to do that? I know you don't mind, but I'd rather not be covered in Stinksap today."

Oddly, a huge smile bloomed on Neville's face. "Really? That's great!" He didn't notice her puzzled expression at that reaction, and hurriedly continued, "Hermione, it would be nice if we could catch up. I haven't really had much of a chance to talk with you lately, so how about a nice study session in the library later in the week? Maybe after dinner on Thursday?"

"Uh, ok…" she replied, still confused by his response.

"Great! See you then!" He then took off with great haste, making a beeline in the opposite direction from some younger Gryffindors that were coming down the corridor. One of them was the 5th year prefect, Lena Drossel.

"Hermione, was that Neville?" Lena asked, trying to peer around Hermione at the fleeing boy.

"Yes, but he's got an appointment with Professor Sprout," Hermione replied.

"Oh," Lena said, clearly disappointed. "Well, I'm sure I can catch him later in the common room. Come on, girls—that essay for McGonagall won't write itself."

Sighing, Hermione resumed her trek to the library. The only thing worse than studying alone was having someone else steal your spot before you got there.

* * *

The common room he shared with Hermione was cold and dark when Draco again stepped through the portrait hole. Glancing at Hermione's closed door, he made do with the first deep breath of their space, her scent lighting up his pleasure centers.

"What a fucking mess," he said to himself, throwing his coat onto the couch. He felt like complete shit, his cold reasserting itself with a vengeance with his prolonged absence from Hogwarts.

"Draco?"

He turned and saw Hermione, limned in the light from her bedside lamp, standing at her bedroom door.

"Hermione." He didn't think, just went toward her. Thankfully, she had the same impulse, and he opened his arms just in time to catch her.

"Draco." Hermione just knew he needed this, to be held. He was cold from being outside, the warmer air of the castle not warming him up just yet. They simply stood for some minutes, absorbing the feeling of being together. Finally Hermione drew back a bit.

"How is your father?"

Draco sighed. "Not well. I am not sure what the next steps are, other than to wait." He noticed that Hermione was shifting her weight, and asked, "Cold?"

"A bit," Hermione admitted, and Draco remembered that she was in her nightclothes…a plain v-neck tee and pajama bottoms.

"Let's sit down," Draco said, using his wand to light the fire again and taking her hand to lead her to the couch. He was happy that she let it remain in his as they sat down, continuing, "They've given him an experimental potion by Severus, but it will take time for the results to show, if there are any."

"What happened to him, Draco? I feel somewhat responsible, as he was here to talk to me," Hermione said.

"Don't blame yourself," Draco said strongly. "He would have come to talk to you anyway. Snape had already informed my parents of my deteriorating condition, and he was determined to inform you of your status. It was just lucky that I had already decided to ask for his help. Besides, my father was not going to confine himself to his house. He has a life and he lives it, regardless of the cowardly bastards out there."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "There hasn't been much in the paper about the missing Death Eaters, so I foolishly assumed the Ministry had things in hand."

"Yes, well, the Ministry has its own problems to deal with," Draco responded darkly. "But the main problem is that they may have damaged his spinal cord. Right now the Healers can't say whether it is merely swollen, or actually cut. Severus' potion is designed to help the ganglia regrow if necessary. In the meantime, they are keeping him sedated because my mother feels he would not respond well to learning he is paralyzed—possibly permanently."

Hermione's face paled. "Draco, that's horrible. I'm so sorry—I don't know what else to say." She was at a loss for words. If Lucius' assailants had had the time to do that sort of damage, it was obvious that they could have killed him. That they had not signified an _intent_ to maim, to punish.

"Hermione," Draco said, rubbing her hand with his own, "This is why I want to ask you to keep our relationship a secret for the time being. I don't want you to become a target by association. I will have enough to worry about for the next few days without fearing for your safety."

"Let them try it!" Hermione said vehemently, but Draco stilled her with a caress on her cheek.

"My brave Gryffindor," Draco murmured. "You wonderful woman, I don't want you to be heartbroken if anything happens to me. We aren't bonded yet—and under the circumstances that is a good thing. I want you to have a chance to be happy without me if these bastards get lucky the next time they try."

"Don't you dare go all noble on me," Hermione retorted. "I want you to put all of your Slytherin cunning to work, because I have every intention of flaunting our future happiness at every opportunity."

"You do?" Draco queried quietly, but his eyes were molten again. Hermione realized that her impulsive pronouncement could be interpreted as furthering her assent to being his mate, and took a deep breath.

"Yes, I do," she affirmed. Whatever this crazy ride was, she didn't intend to get off the roller coaster.

"Sweetheart." He cupped her jaw, the kiss that followed achingly tender, and impossible to break. Draco felt his fangs lengthen, instinctively wanting to pierce his own tongue, to give Hermione a bit of his blood, furthering their courtship. He broke off the kiss with a pant, feeling the prick of his fangs and the sweet taste of his own blood. Hermione came back toward him for more, but he shook his head, his voice somewhat garbled when he said, "No, don't. I can't control my instincts."

"To hell with your control," Hermione insisted, grabbing his neck and pressing her wet, open mouth back to his.

 _Oh fuck, this is amazing!_ The thought exploded in his brain as the first suck of Hermione's mouth on his tongue registered, giving him an instant hard-on that was headed for a rapid climax with every pull of her mouth.

Hermione knew damn well what she was doing. The first taste of Draco's blood was sweet and rich, adding a hormonal high to kissing him that had her writhing on his lap. _Sweet Jesus, I could come from this alone_ , she thought, reveling in how Draco clenched one hand in her hair, the other pulling her tight against him. Her tongue flicked against his and hit one of his fangs, and on the next pass she ran her tongue over the tip of it.

That did it for Draco. He bit her tongue lightly, instinctively, giving him another, deeper taste of her own blood. He took control of the kissing and the writhing, bringing Hermione down hard on his lap, her knees opening for him readily. It only took a few thrusts and sucks before he came in his pants, Hermione's shuddered cry signaling her own climax.

"Oh my God. OH. That was…" Hermione's voice was muffled in his neck, and Draco brought her head back up, his tongue slipping back into her mouth, this time to heal the cut on her tongue. He ended the kiss, drawing back slightly to lean his forehead against hers.

"Magnificent. The word you are looking for is, magnificent—you stubborn, pigheaded, marvelous temptress," Draco finished.

"No more talk of you dying. At the very least, now I would pine for decades, Draco," Hermione said, letting her fingers trail along his cheek and to the stubble on his jaw.

"Yes, you would," Draco admitted. "I wish I could say I were sorry, but it would be a damn lie."

Hermione laughed at that, and Draco looked down at his lap, causing Hermione to do the same. "Excuse me, love. I think I'd better get cleaned up." He moved her off his lap and stood, not quite embarrassed to have come in his pants but also not terribly comfortable about it either.

"Right." Hermione realized she was a bit of a mess herself, and fumbled for her wand, which had fallen out of her back pocket into one of the crevices of the couch. "You must think I send the worst kind of mixed signals."

Draco paused in cleaning himself up, Hermione's tone alerting him. Her face was flushed, and Draco frowned in response. He came back to her, crouching on his knees in front of her.

"Hey. You and I, we have a lot between us: past, present, and future. We're still learning about each other, right?" He caressed her cheek. "Don't beat yourself up for not being prepared for everything. These instincts are powerful, and designed to bring us together. I've had months to get used to it, and you've had just over a day. This is one hell of a ride. We should enjoy it when we can."

His grin was infectious, and the corner of Hermione's mouth crooked up slightly. "You always know what to say. Well, sometimes," she amended, and he laughed.

"Glad I get it right sometimes," he said.

"You do. But not all the time," Hermione admitted wryly, and Draco grinned.

"Good thing you added that last bit, Granger, or you'd have been kissed again." Draco made himself stand up despite the strong temptation to do just that. "Look, I have to get to bed. Merlin only knows what time it is, and I need some sleep to kick this cold I've got."

"I hope I don't get it," Hermione said honestly.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Draco replied, giving her a quick kiss. "It's not something you can catch. I'll see you in the morning, right?"

"Yes. I have to write an essay for Snape." A hint of irritation crept into Hermione's voice, and Draco cocked an eyebrow in inquiry. "He set me an extra essay when I was questioning the Biro Controversy, the git."

He laughed, then pulled her into a hug. "I can help you."

"Thanks." It was muffled into his shirt, which was somehow just perfect.

"Good night love."


End file.
